


Harry Potter and the Blind Seer of Durmstrang

by BrailleErin



Series: BrailleErin Blind Harry Potter fics [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blind Character, Blind Harry Potter, Durmstrang, Gen, Hogwarts, white cane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 72,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrailleErin/pseuds/BrailleErin
Summary: Sequel to Sword of Gryffindor. Blind Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts for his fourth year but gets more than he bargained for. AU. Those who asked for a sequel, you got it!Complete and posted on ffnet under same username and title, working on adding it to AO3.
Series: BrailleErin Blind Harry Potter fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591198
Comments: 9
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter sat on the edge of his bed at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries with his head bent, listening to the noises of coming and going in the fourth-floor hallway. Excitement coursed through him, because today he was going home. For the first time.

Harry never considered himself to have a home before. Of course, Hogwarts had been home for a good part of the year for the past three years but somewhere in the back of his mind lurked the knowledge that it was still a school and much as he liked it, most people had a real home.

The house on Privet Drive, occupied by his Dursley relatives had been even farther from a true home. Living there had been more like surviving. Between the dislike and neglect by the adult members of the family and the torment and abuse by Dudley, Harry had been more than pleased to leave it behind forever and dust the memory from his feet as soon as possible.

But today was different. Today was special. Today he would accompany his godfather, Sirius Black, to his home in London which would become Harry's home as well. Until last year he hadn't known he even had a godfather, his father's best friend. Black had been incarcerated in Azkaban, unjustly, and his escape and subsequent location of the true villain had taken most of last year.

Harry rolled the name of the house around in his mind. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Somehow it didn't sound very nice, but Sirius had explained to him the tradition of the ancient House of Black, which also hadn't been very nice.

_Where was Sirius?_ Harry tensed, waiting. Sirius was supposed to come and retrieve him after checking out of his own room on the first floor where he was recuperating from werewolf bites. Harry had been down to visit him every day. He'd sat in an uncomfortable old chair whose four feet did not match one another in length so the chair rocked slightly when Harry shifted his weight. He'd sat, tipping the chair back and then forward, and then back again with a steady, monotonous click as he had talked to Sirius who lay pale and tired on the white bed.

Really, Harry hadn't needed to stay this long in hospital at all. At Madame Pomfrey's recommendation, he had undergone the procedure that was an attempt to save his already ruined retinas and so far it seemed to be totally successful, as the fourth-floor medi-wizard had informed him with a sprightly chipperness in his tone that annoyed both Harry and Sirius. "Totally successful" meant Harry could see as well as he did before the procedure, which wasn't saying much. But it also meant that the encroaching darkness that had been creeping up on Harry for the past months was held at bay a while longer.

Harry saw mostly light, he'd decided. Lights everywhere became his enemy, each one much too bright in painful, glaring brilliance that washed out detail and form. Color was a thing of the past; he saw now in monochrome as he had all year. Sharp edges, too, were gone and in their place a sort of misty, light haze hung over everything as if he walked in perpetual fog. At school last year he'd learned to use a white cane after he almost fell off a moving staircase that wasn't there and he'd also begun learning Braille after he discovered he couldn't read his textbooks even with the largest magnifier offered in the Shop of Requirement. To this end, Professor Lupin had been unexpectedly helpful and the plan was for him to board at 12 Grimmauld Place for the summer to continue Harry's "blind lessons" as he thought of them.

After the procedure on his eyes was done, Harry didn't have much to do in the way of recovery, but since his guardian resided in exhaustion on the First Floor, there really wasn't anywhere for Harry to go until Sirius was well enough to go home and take Harry with him.

_ And so, _ thought Harry,  _ we get to today. The day I get to go home. _

His eyes closed against the blinding sunlight from the window across the hall, Harry listened while each second stretched into oblivion, giving way halfheartedly to the one following it, unwilling to hasten its tortoise-like pace. Brisk footsteps echoed down the hallway but Harry knew those footsteps. They belonged to the gum-chewing nurse who had the morning shift on his floor. Another set of feet followed hers but again Harry frowned. The soft shoes belonged to one of the long-term patients who had apparently been let out for air again. Harry knew Professor Lockhart resided somewhere on this floor in that wing but he hadn't seen him, nor had he taken the initiative to seek him out; on the contrary, he preferred to avoid him entirely and he scooted over on his bed to be out of sight of the doorway in case the slippered feet belonged to him.

At last, Harry heard the footsteps he was waiting for and his heart gave an absurd little skip. The pace was slow, the gait uneven, limping, tired. Harry stood, his heart pounding, and unfolded the white cane that had become such an extension of his arm he would have felt as naked without it as he would without his pants. Opening his eyes slowly, he looked at the dark figure silhouetted against the glowing light in the doorway.

"Ready, Harry?" asked Sirius.

Rather than answering, Harry grinned. He had been ready his whole life. He bent and picked up the handle of his case then followed his godfather down the hall, matching his impatient pace to the slow walk of the injured man next to him.

[break]

Gloomy. That was the thought that came to Harry's mind upon entering his new home at Grimmauld Place. The long entrance hall in which he found himself had little in the way of light, but smelled mustily of dust and cobwebs. Harry tripped over something, which turned out to be an umbrella stand made from the leg of a troll. The noise he made woke a portrait of Sirius Black's mother who shrieked and carried on until Harry cringed, but Sirius himself ignored it as if from long practice.

Harry loved it. He loved the dim, shadowy hallways and creaking stairs. He loved the gloominess, the lack of penetrating glare that hurt his eyes. Sirius took him up to a bedroom on the third floor, along twisting corridors flanked by dark wooden balusters.

"This is your room, Harry," he said and Harry could not keep the grin off his face. A room of his own, not filled with Dudley's old things sat open before him, welcoming him into its own embrace. Sirius, not one to stand upon ceremony, left Harry to himself to settle in, mentioning in an offhand way that he'd be in the basement kitchen whenever Harry felt like joining him.

Harry closed the door and put his back to it, facing his new room. Through the dimness of closed curtains, he could see a large, looming canopied bed and higgledy-piggledy lumps and bumps of uncertain furniture set here and there. The dark paper on the walls he supposed had some sort of pattern which he could not discern and when he touched them, they merely felt smooth and brittle.

He decided to explore systematically, thoroughly. This was one place he wanted to feel completely at home, to know where everything was. Lupin had drilled into him the necessity of using organization and memory to simplify life or he'd be constantly losing things and wasting too much time trying unsuccessfully to locate them again. So he made a slow circuit of the room, looking at each item, touching it, determining its function and locating all of the items on top of each surface. He was pleased to find a heavy wooden bureau, a fireplace, a wardrobe, a nightstand with several drawers and a dressing table with a large mirror on the top. As his fingers touched the smooth, cold surface of the mirror, he smiled wryly to himself. He could see a blurred reflection in the half-light, could see the stranger in the glass move an arm when he did, but with no detail, no color and only shades of cloudy mist, it wouldn't be of any use to him at all.

Of more interest was the wingback chair in one corner next to a reading table with a small lamp.

Another thing Harry's search revealed was his Hogwarts trunk sitting primly under the window. Joyfully he pried it open and began rummaging through all of the things he had missed while in hospital. His fingers sifted through to the small items on the bottom: a beeping Snitch, sleeping, tucked into a benign-looking smooth ball; the Sneakoscope Ron had given him last year; his bubble magnifier, chipped along one edge.

Harry took out his Braille books and placed them on the low shelf of the reading table. He put his clothes into the bureau and the tall, forbidding-looking wardrobe. Opening the door, he wondered briefly if there might be a Boggart living in this one as there had been in Lupin's classroom. But to his relief, only a couple of moth-balls dropped out.

It took Harry only a few more minutes to unpack his few belongings and he smiled as he surveyed his new room, seeing it now fully detailed in his imagination. His mind's eye had even painted in colors: the shabby velvet bed-curtains looked a deep, dark red and the patterned rug on the floor used mostly blues. He wondered what the scene depicted on the tapestry above the fireplace showed and he resolved to ask Sirius about it later.

Heading down to the kitchen, Harry decided to take his cane with him until he knew the house better. He suspected it would eventually live in the troll leg stand by the front door, but for now he needed to use it still. Not in a hurry to reach the kitchen, Harry gave himself up to the delight of exploration and getting lost, then figuring out where he was, then getting lost again. Sirius had told him that since this was to be his home, he was free to go in it where he liked. Harry felt pleased to be allowed to explore on his own rather than be babied and led around. He decided he and Sirius would get along quite well, if their beginning was any indication.

Harry took his time, poking into dim, dusty rooms, running his fingers along shelves of trinkets and edges of picture frames, enjoying the textures, the discoveries. Once, in the drawing room, he touched the long, velvet draperies and was bombarded by a swarm of doxies. He batted at the creatures and moved away so they would settle again in undisturbed peace in the dusty cloth.

The house, unoccupied during Sirius's imprisonment, had been terribly neglected. Harry's fingers found piles of dust everywhere and spiderwebs in nearly every corner. Yet in spite of the dust and disarray, Harry preferred it unequivocally over Aunt Petunia's spotless domain.

At last his wanderings took him down the last set of creaking stairs to the low, brick kitchen.

"Hello, Harry," greeted Sirius. "What do you think of your new home?"

"It's brilliant!" enthused Harry.

"I am sorry it is not well-kept," began Sirius and was interrupted by a low sound from one end of the room.

"Kreacher has kept it well enough," said the creaky voice that made Harry start with surprise. He hadn't expected a House Elf and looked around the room, trying to spot the small creature.

"Ahh, yes, Harry. Meet Kreacher," said Sirius wryly and Kreacher came reluctantly forward until Harry could at least make out his shape.

"It's nice to meet you," said Harry politely but was rewarded only with a sniff and Kreacher retreated again.

"Is your room all right?" asked Sirius and Harry nodded happily.

"It's brilliant," he said again, feeling as if he couldn't be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete fic posted on ffnet https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6673903/1/Harry-Potter-and-the-Blind-Seer-of-Durmstrang


	2. Chapter 2

Shortly after Sirius brought Harry home to 12 Grimmauld Place, Lupin joined them, as planned. Living with the two bachelors, who had been close friends of his parents, seemed as different to Harry as if he'd moved to another planet.

They quickly settled into a routine that revolved around pampering Sirius who still seemed weak and listless. Lupin gave Harry daily lessons on how to do everything from cooking a meal without sight to navigating the busy streets and Underground, an interesting experience for both of them, since Lupin wasn't overly familiar with the Muggle world.

Each morning, Lupin and Harry cooked breakfast together. Harry had cooked before at the Dursleys, of course, but cooking almost entirely by touch and sound and smell, along with cooking in Sirius's enormous fireplace rather than on the Dursley's electric range made for a different procedure entirely. On the very first day, he tried an omelette, hoping to surprise Sirius and Lupin when they came downstairs.

He located a big cast-iron pan without trouble and managed to get a fire going. He wasn't sure if he would get in trouble for using his wand to light the fire, so he did it the old-fashioned Muggle way with matches and bits of paper. It took a lot of matches and he was covered with soot by the time he managed it. Next, he melted butter in the pan and explored the larder for eggs and cheese and vegetables. He wasn't sure what sort of vegetables one put in an omelette. He found a box that when he shook it he found it contained peas. Another seemed to be full of bits of broccoli.

With little trouble, he broke the eggs into the pan and added chunks of cheese and some of the vegetables, and then let it cook over the fire. He was surprised how much like Potions class it seemed. Since his sight had failed and he'd learned to be slower and more precise, Potions class had been surprisingly successful; now cooking seemed to be going well also.

When Sirius came down the stairs yawning not long after he started cooking, Harry ordered him to pull out a plate. Grinning from ear to ear, Harry produced the pan with his omelette in it, holding the hot handle with a dingy tea-towel and feeling quite pleased with himself.

A dead silence greeted him as Sirius peered into the pan.

"Oh no," said Harry bleakly. "What's wrong with it?"

"I've never seen purple eggs before," said Sirius slowly.

"Purple?" asked Harry in confusion. "What… how did they turn purple?"

"I have no idea," said Sirius solemnly, but mirth had begun to bubble up under his voice as if he was trying to keep it hidden but it would soon burst forth anyway. "What did you put into them?"

"Nothing but a few vegetables! Peas, and some broccoli," said Harry in dismay.

Lupin chose this auspicious moment to enter the kitchen, shuffling in bedroom slippers and running fingers through his hair. "What have you got there?" he asked, drawing near the table. "Purple eggs!"

"I didn't mean to make purple eggs!" wailed Harry.

Sirius, meanwhile, had been rummaging in the larder. "I don't have any peas in here, Harry. Where did you get peas?"

Harry joined him and took out the rest of the box of frozen peas.

Sirius did not even try to contain his laughter. He fairly roared. Lupin, on joining him, looked at the box and roared too. Harry felt completely lost and not a little miffed. What was so funny about a boring old box of peas?

"These aren't peas," huffed Sirius through his laughter. "This is a box of blackcurrants I had gotten to make a bit of wine."

"I've never heard of peas in omelette," said Lupin solemnly.

"Nor blackcurrants either," added Sirius, still laughing. "Master Moony, would you care much for some delicious, gourmet blackcurrant omelette this morning?"

Harry couldn't help it. Watching his godfather and teacher together was like watching Fred and George. It was as if Sirius was shedding years even as he watched. Harry burst into laughter too, joining the other two at the table where the pan of unfortunate eggs sat.

They all tried the purple eggs and declared them unfit to eat, whereupon Lupin whipped up another batch of scrambled eggs and promised Harry to teach him in the upcoming days how to identify food before he invented new concoctions with it. Sirius read the Daily Prophet aloud. Harry couldn't remember a breakfast ever being filled with such laughter and fun.

[break]

On the third week of summer holidays, 12 Grimmauld Place received a visit from the Weasley family. Molly insisted she needed to check on Harry, but Sirius told him in an aside that she just wanted to clean the house. This she certainly did, starting in immediately on the drawing room, fussing and scolding and exclaiming over and over how she did not understand how they could live in such a mess.

"C'mon, Harry," Ron said, pulling Harry away from his mother. "Let's get out of here before she makes us help her."

They darted up the stairs to Harry's room. Ron had brought along a new book about the Chudley Cannons, his favorite Quidditch team. He sprawled on Harry's bed, reading excerpts and facts about Quidditch. Sitting on his trunk, Harry listened and thought about Ravenclaw winning the Cup last year and how that had been mostly his fault.

"Next year, Gryffindor should win the Cup," he said confidently.

"I heard Quidditch was canceled next year," said Ron, rolling over and sitting up.

"What?" asked Harry, leaping to his feet. "Cancel Quidditch?"

"At the end of last term," said Ron. "Dumbledore said there would be no Quidditch next year. Instead, they're having some sort of inter-school exchange program and a big tournament."

"But no Quidditch?" asked Harry in disbelief.

"We'll have the World Cup in August," said Ron as if in consolation.

"What's this exchange thing?" asked Harry.

"I'm not exactly sure," said Ron. "From what it sounded like, witches and wizards from other schools come to Hogwarts for the year, while some of our students study at schools like Durmstrang and Beauxbatons."

"I wonder which students will get chosen to do that," said Harry slowly.

"No idea," said Ron, turning back to his book.

Harry said no more about it, but he wondered about the upcoming Tournament and the students who would be coming to Hogwarts. He had never met wizards or witches from other schools; he wondered whether they would behave like the ones he knew at Hogwarts.

Soon Ron left with his book and Harry thought he'd grab one of his own books and follow. He went to the reading table to find one. His hands met an empty shelf. Harry frowned. He was sure he'd put three Braille books there. In fact, he'd picked one up last week and read a page or so from it halfheartedly. But now, at this moment, they were nowhere near the shelf.

"Ron?" Harry called, pounding down the stairs. By this time he knew every step and didn't think twice about them as he rounded the corner onto the second-floor hallway. "Ron? Did you take my books?"

"Your books?" asked Ron, poking his head out of a doorway. "Why would I take your books? I can't bloody well read them."

"Ronald Weasley! Watch your mouth!" Mrs. Weasley's voice floated upward toward them on the dusty air.

"Ears like a bat," muttered Ron.

"You didn't take them?" queried Harry. "I can't find them."

"No, mate," said Ron. "Maybe you just stuck them somewhere else and forgot." Having listened to Harry rant about losing something on numerous occasions over the past year, Ron didn't seem to want to waste brain cells on the problem, but Harry frowned thoughtfully. He hadn't set them anywhere else. He was sure of it.

For now, though, he shrugged and followed Fred, George and Ron downstairs, enjoying the delicious smells of dinner wafting up toward them from the kitchen.

[break]

Thus the happy summer passed; each day was with laughter and friends, and before he knew it, it was July 31st and Harry's birthday. Nobody spoke of the date and all day Harry thought Sirius had forgotten it. It was so unexpected and so Dursley-ish that Harry began to feel rather waspish as he lay on his bed in his room after lunch staring at the underside of the bed canopy and wondering how many spiders lived there just above him.

"Harry!" Lupin called up the stairs. "It's a fine afternoon. We ought to go for a walk and work on your cane technique. You could use the practice on street crossing still."

Harry scowled to himself. Lessons on his birthday, he thought indignantly, and the indignity of practicing street crossings! When would he need to know how to cross a busy Muggle street in the wizarding world anyway? In a few years, he'd be able to apparate to the other side of the street if he wanted to. But he didn't have anything better to do and so pulled himself up off his bed and stumped downstairs, collecting his cane from the troll-leg umbrella stand where it now lived.

"As you know," began Lupin in his best lecturing voice, "drivers of cars ought to always stop for a white stick, but you can never assume they see you and will stop."

Harry, who had heard this speech several times before, nodded mutely as they stood on the kerb listening to traffic rushing in front of them. The light changed, and Harry watched the blurred shapes and listened to the cars beside him begin to move as motors idled directly in front of him. He was about to step out, but Lupin's arm held him back. A lorry whooshed past them, the wind from its passing sucking at Harry's hair.

"Where did that come from?" Harry gasped as his adrenaline surged.

"It turned left without looking properly," said Lupin sourly. "Rather dramatically proving my point, I must say."

Harry winced and agreed. The light changed again and they waited through another cycle; this time, Harry listened carefully before determining that it was safe to cross. Lupin walked soberly beside him. They crossed several more streets before retracing their steps toward 12 Grimmauld Place. As they approached, Lupin told him how the house grew magically into view between number eleven and number thirteen. Sirius had told Harry of this phenomenon before, of course, but Harry never tired hearing about the hidden house, even though he couldn't see it happening.

Automatically stepping to his left to avoid the umbrella stand, Harry closed the door quietly. He wanted to avoid the shrieking and scolding of the portrait of Madame Black, but he'd hardly gotten well into the hall when a chorus of voices shouted from the basement stairs at the end of the hall, "Surprise!" which, of course, woke old Mrs. Black.

"Mudbloods! Traitors in my house!" she wailed, and everyone on the stairs laughed. Mrs. Black did not take to this at all, and her protests could be heard throughout the house as she howled in disgust. Harry and Lupin brushed past her portrait and into the warm glow of friends who filled the kitchen. Hermione was there and the Weasleys. Sirius had even invited Dobby, who cowered in a corner next to Kreacher who sourly watched the goings on, so Harry was later told.

"I thought you forgot!" Harry said to Sirius, pulling him aside to whisper so the others would not hear.

"Never, Harry," said Sirius. "Forget that wonderful day you were born? Waiting in Godric's Hollow, with your dad fairly bursting with pride that he had a son? And then the day you came home with your mum and dad… we all thought you were the most amazing thing we'd ever seen."

Harry smiled wistfully, thinking that once he'd had a family who loved him. Sirius seemed to read his thoughts and gave him a quick squeeze. "I miss them too," he said, drawing Harry back toward his friends, who had piled the old wooden table high with parcels and packages for Harry.

Harry sat before the pile and exclaimed on the size of it.

Opening the parcels, he discovered a new pack of Braille Exploding Snap cards from Lupin, an owl-parcel-pack for Hedwig from Hermione, and from Sirius a Mokeskin Expandable Wallet with a waist belt. The Wallet would fit as many items as a room, but looked merely the size and weight of a small belt-pack. Harry knew these bags cost quite a few Galleons in Diagon Alley, and he gave Sirius a grateful smile.

To his surprise, Arthur Weasley pushed a very tiny parcel into his hand. Harry unwrapped it and found a small earpiece, nested inside a velvet box full of soft cotton. He held it in his palm and looked up at Arthur quizzically.

"I found it in a Muggle bin," said Arthur gleefully and Harry tried not to wince. "It's an earpiece that Muggles use to hear better, but I fiddled with it just a little bit."

"What does it do?" asked Ron, pushing past his father to peer at the tiny object in Harry's hand.

"It automatically translates forty-two different languages," said Arthur proudly. "It makes traveling a breeze!"

Harry opened his mouth to say he wasn't planning to travel anytime soon, but he closed it again and forced himself to smile warmly. "Thanks," he said. "It's brilliant."

Arthur straightened his shoulders in pride but said self-deprecatingly, "merely a trifle."

Harry put the earpiece back into its nest of cotton and thrust the box into his pocket. He opened more gifts of licorice wands from Ron and some joke false teeth from Fred and George. Ginny shyly pushed a small, flat packet across the table to him and he found a loose-leaf diary.

"I-I-I thought since the pages came out, you could use Braille," she said shyly. "I know you said you can't put a piece of paper in the writer thingy if it's bound, but I thought, you know… if it's loose… well, you can keep a diary."

"Thanks," Harry said with a smile, and next he opened a package from Dobby that turned out to contain a dog collar with two tinkling tags.

Molly Weasley had brought with her a chocolate frosted birthday cake in a rather squashy box and a pot of soup for dinner. Sirius produced a loaf of bread and a jug of pumpkin juice, so they all dove in, Harry opting to eat a slice of birthday cake before dinner, just because he could.

At the end of the meal, Harry pushed his chair back with a contented sigh. It had been the best birthday he could ever remember. Unbidden into his mind came the memory of his thirteenth birthday last year, sitting alone in the smallest bedroom of Privet Drive. No one had remembered it was his birthday, and he'd been too insecure to venture out into a world full of searing, glaring light that he did not know how to navigate.

What a difference it made to be surrounded by friends and to have a year of training by a competent teacher like Lupin! Harry hoped he'd never have to be alone again.


	3. Chapter 3

In August, Harry had been invited to stay with the Weasley family for the week leading up to the Quidditch World Cup. Although Sirius and Lupin were also invited, Sirius still felt weak and ill, and opted to stay home. Lupin and Harry had discussed Sirius in low worried tones together; he simply was not regaining his strength as he ought. Lupin opined that the years in Azkaban had weakened his constitution, but neither of them could come up with a solution and both were worried.

Lupin promised Harry that he'd care for Black while Harry was away at the Weasleys, and so Harry left by himself through the Floo network one blisteringly hot August afternoon. Rather than packing his trunk, he took what he needed in the mokeskin wallet, and he found it to be quite adequate to hold whatever he wanted.

It occurred to Harry as he sat on Ron's bed that evening, listening to his friend babble enthusiastically about the upcoming event, that he wouldn't be able to see the action. He felt idiotic for not having considered this before, but suddenly he was not looking forward to going to the World Cup in quite the same way he had all summer. He felt cut off from Ron in a way he never really had before, and the thought stung him, as if a part of him had been made invisible.

"…Bulgaria, you know," Ron was saying as he paged through the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet. "Victor Krum is their Seeker, even though he is only seventeen and still in school. Can you believe that? They say he's one of the best fliers in the world."

"Mmm," said Harry noncommittally.

"Of course, Ireland's the favorite to win," continued Ron. "They flattened Peru in the Semis. Don't you think…"

"Oh, I don't care!" shouted Harry and flung himself out of the room. He suddenly could stand Ron's happy chatter no longer. He slipped on the way down the Burrow's narrow, twisting stairs, further fueling his internal frustration.

Ginny poked her head out of her room. "What's eating you, Harry?" she asked in surprise.

"Nothing," said Harry with a scowl and continued past her down the stairs and out the back door of the Burrow, tripping as he went over a rusty cauldron that had toppled into his path from the uneven stack by the back door. Once in the back garden, he threw himself down in the shade of one of the big trees that separated the garden from the orchard beyond.

What had gotten into him? Usually, he loved to talk Quidditch with Ron. He lay on his back on the dry grass looking up at the blurred branches of the tree, faded and washed out against the glaring hot sky, and then he closed his eyes with a tired sigh.

All that week, Harry tried to be congenial with the Weasleys, but he secretly found their easygoing banter irritating. The fact that he constantly tripped over clutter left here and there in their mismatched house added to his bad mood until he really had trouble hiding it. Fortunately, everyone else was so excited about the upcoming adventure, nobody paid much attention.

At last, the day arrived when they were to travel to the World Cup. Mr. Weasley bustled around packing the tent and supplies and double-checking the portkey he had set up. It seemed to Harry to take decades before everyone was ready to go and they began walking up the land toward the hillock where they planned to take the portkey to the World Cup grounds. No matter how much he tried to shake the feeling and enter into the excitement of the day, Harry still felt distanced from the action, aloof and alone.

When they arrived at the World Cup stadium, Harry halfheartedly joined in the work of setting up the old, smelly tent. He was surprised to discover that the inside was about the size of a small flat, complete with a camp stove and several bunks. Tiredly, he threw himself into one of them, not wanting to take the trouble just yet to learn his way about yet another unfamiliar place.

"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Hermione, bending to peer down at him.

"Yeah, fine," he answered snappishly.

Apparently chilled by his reaction, she left again, and Harry found himself alone in the tent while the others went out to explore the area. They soon returned, however, chattering about the muggle-repelling charms and the large number of tents and crowds. Ginny had seen some friends from school and begged her father to let her go eat dinner with them, but he refused.

"You belong with your family," he said in the fatherly tone that probably annoyed Ginny but made Harry twinge with unexpected jealousy.

Mrs. Weasley had sent along a big basket of pasties for their first night and Harry, joining the family at the table, discovered that eating the meat pies with his hands was so easy he cheered up considerably. Directly after dinner, they started for the stadium. Darkness was falling by this time, and Harry found that he could see better and better as the light faded, although the uneven ground over which they walked still caused him to stagger and stumble like a drunken man.

Hermione quietly brushed the back of his hand with her elbow and he took it, grateful for her guidance as the crowd thickened near the stadium. Their seats were somewhat low in the stadium, much to Ron's vocal dismay, but Harry found he really didn't care. He'd be following the game by the announcer anyway. At first, he had thought bitterly that he might as well have stayed home and listened to the wireless, but now that he was here he enjoyed the noise and the excitement.

Just as they took their seats, the leprechauns from Ireland began their dance for the opening ceremony, flying in such a large, shimmering formation that even Harry could see it, although he missed the green colour he knew they showed. Ireland's team flew onto the pitch, amid screams and pounding from the crowd. Ron had bought a leprechaun badge and as the team flew out, it began chanting the team song in a high-pitched, tinny little voice. Once the leprechauns flew off, Bulgaria's mascots began their own routine. Harry couldn't make out what they were, but Ron leaned over and sketched a quick, lovesick description in his ear.

Harry slumped in his seat, his chin in his hands. Self-pity rolled over him like a wave. He wanted to see the Veela, to drool on his shoes like Ron was doing. He wanted to be normal, average. Why couldn't he have a normal life, normal parents, normal eyesight? He was suddenly so angry and frustrated that he looked away from the pitch, down at the floor, and wished he could close his ears to the shouting and the reverberating voice of the announcer, who had bellowed out the news that the Bulgarian team had taken to the air above the pitch.

Shouts of "Krum, Krum," erupted from the stands and Ron jumped to his feet, and Harry jumped as he whistled shrilly between his fingers.

Harry sat in silence as the game started and the Irish Chaser, Troy, scored a quick goal, slipping stealthily past the Bulgarian Keeper. The crowd went wild and Ron's badge burst forth again into its tinny chorus.

As the game went on, Harry began to feel smothered. The disorienting noise of the crowd, the haze in front of his eyes, the distance he felt from his friend, all combined into a stifling, choking anxious feeling of angry dread. Almost in a panic, Harry rose and pushed past Ron onto the steps, muttering something about "going to find the loo."

With his cane, he felt his way steadily up the steps, although his heart hammered and he wanted to run. Still, he forced himself to climb deliberately so he wouldn't trip. He got to the top concourse and found he had no idea where he was, nor had he any idea where to find a loo. He stood still, unsure what he should do next or where he should go.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" The voice, creamy as melted chocolate, materialized at Harry's elbow.

"Yes," he said, turning to smile slightly at the owner of the mesmerizing voice.

"You look a little bit lost," said the girl in tantalizing tones, a hint of Cyrillic in her accent. "I'm Natalia Babochka; I dance for the Bulgarian team."

"Natalia," said Harry warmly, savoring the syllables of her melodious name. "You're a Veela, then," he added.

"Yes," she said with a musical little laugh that sounded to Harry like the water of a brook.

"It's nice to meet you, err, I'm Harry Potter… err, you already knew that," floundered Harry, feeling his face grow warm.

Natalia laughed again, the sound wafting over Harry like a spring breeze. "I go to Durmstrang School. You go to Hogwarts, no?" she asked.

"Err, yes, when school is in," said Harry and flushed again. Of course, she knew that.

"Where were you going?" asked Natalia. "You are blind?" She was probably looking at his cane with a gentle curiosity, judging from the soft tone in her voice.

"Yes," said Harry, not sure how much he wanted to explain just how his vision worked. "I was going to find the… err…" He broke off awkwardly. "I was just going for a breath of air."

"Then let us take the air together," she said, looping an arm chummily through his. The nearness of her slender body made his heart race, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

They walked slowly along the concourse through crowds of people, most of them stopping to gawp at Harry and his Veela companion. Oblivious to the stares and whispers, Harry floated on clouds, drinking in the subtle scent of her silken hair and hoping it would brush against his hand. He wondered what color it was; to him it looked silver, as if it shone with its own radiant moonlight.

"Do you like the Hogwarts School?" she asked conversationally.

"Oh, yes," Harry gushed, then checked himself. "Err, it's okay. How about you?"

"Oh, Durmstrang is a very good school," she said, and Harry had trouble concentrating on her words when all he wanted to do was to lose himself in the dulcet tones of her voice. "But they do teach the Dark Arts, you know," she added as if she expected Harry to recoil at this.

"You learn Dark Magic?" asked Harry curiously.

"Yes, I know some," she said flippantly. Harry did not know what to say to this so he said nothing, and they walked in silence for a few minutes.

"Do you… err, do you want to visit me at Hogwarts sometime?" asked Harry in a rush.

"No, I cannot," she said and slipped her arm from his. "I must go," she said hurriedly, and her soft footsteps faded into the din of the crowd, leaving Harry standing alone in a sea of pushing, buffeting people.

For a moment, he stood still with an absentminded smile on his face, remembering her scent, her glowing hair, her musical voice. Then, with a start, he awoke to the fact that he stood completely alone on the concourse and had absolutely no idea where he was.

He turned slowly and began retracing his steps, but he hadn't made a mental map this time of where he'd walked. He had been too distracted by his enchanting companion. The contented feeling he'd enjoyed when she was with him ebbed away leaving a rising tide of panic in its wake. The people around him hurried past too quickly for him to find someone to ask for help. None of the signs or even doorways were visible.

From his right, beyond the wall, the stadium erupted again into cheers and shouting, and Harry could hear the announcer shouting, "penalty," which led to increased shouting, mingled with boos and stamping of feet. People around Harry swirled past him to go to the nearest doorway to look out onto the pitch and see what was happening. Harry stood where he was, dizzy, trying to remain upright on his feet amid the disorienting roar of noise.


	4. Chapter 4

"Harry! What are you doing over here?" Arthur Weasley's voice startled Harry. He wondered what Mr. Weasley had been doing up here himself.

"I, errr, got lost…" Harry began, but Arthur wasn't listening.

"Well, come along with me again," he said, pulling Harry's elbow.

"Wait," said Harry as Lupin had taught him. "Let me take your arm, there."

Thus keeping together among the crowd, Mr. Weasley and Harry made their way back toward the rest of the family. The riot of the crowd finally died down as they walked.

"How did you find me?" asked Harry.

"Well, I… err…" Mr. Weasley seemed to be searching for words. "A colleague of mine… wanted to speak with me," he said finally. Harry frowned to himself, not at the words themselves, which seemed innocent enough, but at the hesitant way at which Mr. Weasley spoke.

It was not long until they reached the staircase to their own seats again. Just as Harry scooted past Ron, everyone leapt to their feet again. Cries of "Lynch!" intermingled with "Krum!" and Harry gathered that the two Seekers were in a desperate race for the Snitch. "And Krum has caught the Snitch!" roared the announcer and a second later he declared with surprise, "but Ireland wins the match, 170-160!" The crowd shrieked and pounded at the unexpected outcome. Harry joined them on his feet, cheering, although for which team he wasn't entirely sure.

He watched through the glaring stadium lights and flashes of wands as the Irish team took their victory lap. As he thought of the cheering crowd and the glory of catching the Snitch in such a match, he even managed a grin, although he still felt odd and aloof. Ron's excited jumping bumped him on one side and Hermione clutched at his arm in excitement from the other, apparently caught up in the energy of the crowd herself.

"He's amazing," Harry heard her say to herself, though who she meant he did not know.

It was late when they finally found themselves back at their tent again. Yet, late as it was, Harry could not sleep. He lay on the smelly bunk listening to the late-night revelers hooting and shouting as they celebrated Ireland's victory. Flashes of light shone through the canvas from bonfires and rockets, and Harry wondered how they escaped notice of the Muggles despite the many enchantments. Finally, after a long while, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

[break]

The next business was, of course, the trip to Diagon Alley for school supplies. Their Hogwarts letters had all arrived days before, addressed in green ink, except Harry's, whose letter had been translated into Braille, much to his delight. He wondered if Professor Dumbledore had finally come up with a transcription charm, and if he did, Harry wanted to learn it.

Harry wondered who the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be, since Lupin told Harry he had resigned the post due to the unpopularity of the werewolf attack the previous year. Also, Lupin planned to help Sirius track down Peter Pettigrew and needed his schedule free to do it.

Lupin did, however, join Harry in Diagon Alley. Since Harry felt shy asking his friends for help, he was relieved to have Lupin come along with him to do his shopping. Lupin laughed at Harry's account of going into Gringotts alone last year and agreed that Harry had come a long way in confidence and skill since then, although Harry noticed that in comparison with the view of Gringotts last year, he could see quite a bit less detail and the edges of his vision looked much more distorted. He shook his head and said nothing to Lupin.

The first place Harry wanted to go was Quality Quidditch Supplies. Harry looked at brooms, gloves, goggles and cleaning kits. He tried on several pairs of goggles and discovered a pair that fit over his glasses. Lupin told him the lenses were red and Harry imagined them matching his Gryffindor uniform, but when he put them on he gasped in surprise.

"What is it?" Lupin asked in alarm.

"I can see so much better with these," said Harry in amazement. "It's like, I don't know, things have more contrast." He couldn't explain how things suddenly jumped into sharper focus, and how colors became distinct from one another, not in the way he used to see color, but still more distinct than before.

"I'll have to research that," said Lupin thoughtfully.

Harry bought the goggles, but they started him thinking. What if the Shop of Requirement could give him lenses that would do the same thing? He decided to go there next.

"Hello, there!" greeted the tiny witch with the tall hat, as if she had been waiting all year just so she could wait upon Harry again. He smiled at her, remembering the surprise he'd felt last year at discovering her domain. He held out the goggles to her.

"Can we make the lenses I wear this color?" he asked.

She took the goggles. "Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "That should not be a problem. May I have your lenses for a moment?"

Harry removed his glasses and handed them over. She took them to the counter and began muttering to herself as she worked over them, tapping them with her wand. "There you go," she said with delight. "Try those."

Harry set them back on his nose and smiled with delight at the result. Just as they had with the goggles, the color made everything around him leap into a touch more clarity than before, although he still could not see color, nor did it clear the infuriating mist from in front of his eyes.

"What do they look like on the outside?" he asked Lupin anxiously.

"They don't look any different to me," Lupin assured him. "Clear. I think she cleaned them for you though. Your lenses had begun to get a bit grimy."

Harry chuckled. "I hadn't noticed," he said wryly.

"This red phenomenon is really fascinating," said Lupin. "I need to do some reading about that. You have made quite an interesting discovery there."

Harry agreed, then turned again to the tiny witch. "Do you have measuring cups for making potions?"

"Of course," she said with a twinkle. "Right this way."

He chose one that had lines he could feel on the inside of the cup and also a set of weights marked with Braille numbers. "How about color indicators?" he asked, shuddering as he thought of the disaster with the Chameleon Tea Flowers last year.

"Oh that's easy," the diminutive witch said. "Chromos paper is enchanted to detect color. Point your wand at whatever you need and say Chromos. Then touch the tip to your paper and the paper will show a Braille word indicating the color. Unfortunately, there is a limit of 163 colors it identifies and you may only use each piece once."

"Hey, that's okay," said Harry, wishing he had known about Chromos Paper last year. "It should work for detecting color in potions, right?"

"Oh yes, and in Transfiguration work as well," she assured him, placing a packet of the paper in his hands. Like last year, he was amassing a pile of articles on the counter.

"Before I go to Flourish and Blotts, is there a way to get my textbooks in Braille this year?" asked Harry.

"Well, there are several ways to go about that," she began. "There are a few wizards trained in using transcription charms, but they are difficult and time consuming to use. Not many choose to go that route. Not to mention, those charms often result in Braille that is full of transcription errors."

Harry frowned. Braille was hard enough to figure out as it was. He didn't need a book full of errors.

The little witch continued. "We do have a guild of blind wizards who do transcription on a full-time basis. You may order your books through them, but it will take several weeks to receive your books. Next year you ought to put in your order at the beginning of the summer if you can."

"But I don't get my list until the middle of August," protested Harry.

"Yes," said the tiny witch, shaking her head. "It's always been a problem."

"Well, I'll order them now and they will come when they come," decided Harry after a quick consultation with Lupin. "It would be great to be able to read my own stuff this year."

"Hermione can still read to you on occasion," added Lupin. "I have discussed it with her already."

"Great," said Harry with relief.

"Now this," said the little witch with delight, "is a new little gadget we just received last week. You might want to take a look. We call it the Hansel-and-Gretel Retriever." She laid a small, triangle-shaped device on Harry's palm.

"What does it do?" Harry asked, touching it curiously.

"You set it like this," she said, tapping it with her wand. "Then wherever you go, it will point the way back to this spot. Go on, try it. Walk away, or around the shop."

Harry slowly walked along between the teetering shelves. The little triangle stayed quietly nestled in his palm.

"Now," said the witch from across the shop, "tap it again and say Domum Me."

Harry did as he was bid and the little triangle began to whirl on his palm like the arrow of a compass. The longer point settled on a direction and he turned to follow it, his hand pointing the way ahead of him. When he reached a turn, it spun to the left and he obediently pivoted until it happily faced forward on his palm again. In no time, he was back again, standing where he started next to Lupin and the little witch.

"Wow, brilliant!" said Harry, remembering all of the hours he had spent at Hogwarts, lost and alone. "I'm not sure I need one of these though, now that I know Hogwarts."

"Well, keep it in mind for later, then," said the little witch. Harry smiled and promised to do so.

Since Harry had ordered his books already, they skipped going to Flourish and Blotts. They stopped by the pet shop, where Harry restocked his supply of treats for Hedwig, then the apothecary, and then on to Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"Dress Robes?" Harry asked Lupin, wondering if he'd read his list wrong. "Whatever for?"

"A formal dinner, perhaps?" said Lupin with a smile. "Schools have them from time to time, you know."

Harry groaned to himself, but he submitted to Madame Malkin fitting him for both his school robes and dress robes, deferring to Lupin on the matter of colour and style.

"We'll have to hurry," observed Lupin. "We promised to meet the Weasleys at Fortescue's at three."

"That reminds me," said Harry, "I meant to ask for a watch in the Shop of Requirement."

"No time for it now," said Lupin. "You'll have to order one later. You got a catalogue, yes?"

"Err, I think so," said Harry who felt as though he was balancing a tower of packages by this time and wishing he'd brought his mokeskin bag with him. He promised himself to keep it always with him after this.

They hurried to Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, where Harry heard the Weasleys before he saw them. Molly was busy scolding the twins for setting a snipe free in the pet shop. He grinned when he walked up to them as he could almost see which family member was which as he looked through his new lenses at them.

"Harry!" said Ron. "What a load you've got there, mate!"

"Yeah," said Harry ruefully, setting his parcels on a table.

"Harry, what's with your eyes?" asked Ginny peering into his face.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, looking toward Lupin for an explanation.

"They look sort of red and glittery," said Ginny.

"I thought you said they were clear," said Harry to Lupin.

"They are," said Lupin, but looking closer, he agreed with Ginny that Harry's eyes looked a touch odd. Harry explained the new lenses and Ginny shrugged off the strange glitter in Harry's eyes, but Harry caught Lupin looking intently at him later and wondered about it.

Since everyone else had their ice creams, Harry went to the counter and ordered a chocolate ice cream packed with as many nuts and marshmallows as it could hold. Although he still couldn't read the menu, he was pleased that he could watch the wizard behind the counter using his wand to coax a long string of ice cream up out of the tub and settle it like a lumpy snake in Harry's cone.

Joining the others at their table, Harry listened to the talk of the upcoming school year. He shivered slightly with anticipation. In three more days he'd be on a train bound for Hogwarts again. Even though this summer had been the best he'd ever known, he couldn't rid himself of the feeling he always had when he knew he'd be going back to school.


	5. Chapter 5

September 1st dawned sunny and warm, as if August had forgotten that it was supposed to give way to fall. Sunlight streamed in the window across Harry's face and he enjoyed the warmth on his skin.

"Get up, sleepyhead," said Ron, tossing a pillow at Harry. "Today's the day!"

"I'm awake," said Harry lazily, placing his hands under his head and stretching on the camp bed that was crammed into Ron's little bedroom.

Ron jumped out of bed and began busily tossing clothes into his trunk. Harry heard the slap of a magazine. He supposed he ought to pack his own trunk, but he lay still for a few lovely minutes more, stretching like a cat in the patch of sunlight, pulling his pillow over his eyes to block the brightness.

"Oh no, you don't," said Ron, jerking the pillow away from him and attempting to roll him out of bed. The pain in his eyes at the flash of light, blinding even through closed eyelids, put Harry into an unexpectedly cross mood.

"Oh stop," he said grumpily and sat up, eyes still closed, fumbling for his glasses on the floor under his bed. Only after he had found them and put them on did he open his eyes, squinting a little as a headache crawled up his forehead.

"We have to pack," said Ron, still bouncing around his room like an India-rubber ball.

"No kidding," said Harry sourly, but Ron ignored his tone.

"Did you hear? The Chudley Cannons are looking to recruit Tommy Blevins next season as Keeper," he said with delight. "That should give them…"

"Oh, who cares about the Chudley Cannons? They'll never be a decent team and you know it," burst out Harry before he could stop himself.

Ron stopped short and stared at Harry, who still sat on the edge of his bed. "What's eating you?" he asked in dismay.

"Nothing," said Harry sulkily.

"Well, you needn't run down the Cannons," said Ron with a sniff and flung himself out of the room and down the stairs with thunderous footsteps. Harry sat for a few more minutes listening to the ghoul in the attic as it gleefully banged on the pipes. He decided today probably could not get worse and he got up.

Three hours later, he stood with Sirius on Platform 9 ¾ waiting to board the train.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Harry asked anxiously, and Sirius laughed.

"Should I be the one asking you that question?" he asked dryly.

"Yes, err, well," Harry said awkwardly.

"I'll be fine, Harry," Sirius assured him. "Remus will stay with me and we're already making plans to begin looking for that rat, Pettigrew."

In spite of Sirius's cheerful words, Harry could hear an underlying tone of fatigue in his voice, and Harry noticed that his godfather seemed to carry himself carefully, as though in pain. Harry wondered what he could do from Hogwarts besides simply worry.

"Have fun, then," said Sirius, a bit too heartily, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Where's Weasley? Thought he'd be right over here."

Harry shrugged. The truth was that Ron had been avoiding him all day, ever since he'd made the crack about the Cannons. At the moment, Harry hardly felt sorry about it; although, in the back of his mind, he knew he'd regret it later.

"You'd better get on," said Sirius as the whistle sounded, long and shrill over their heads. He handed Hedwig's cage to Harry and watched as Harry turned to board the train.

Harry pushed his way into the first compartment he could find and sank with a sigh on the bench seat, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He hoped Ron and Hermione would come and find him, but he wasn't counting on it, not after Ron's anger that morning.

"Have you had a difficult morning?" asked a quiet voice from the opposite seat. Harry's head snapped up again. He doubted he'd ever get used to people surprising him like that, appearing where he hadn't seen them, as if they had materialized out of thin air to stand beside him or touch him or talk to him. In this case, he'd assumed he was alone in the compartment, and the unwelcome presence of this questioning person made Harry feel on edge again.

"Err, yes," said Harry, leaning his head back again.

"Sorry I startled you," said the voice vaguely. "I'm Luna Lovegood, by the way. I'm reading my father's magazine, The Quibbler, upside down."

Harry sat up and looked at her again. Very few people thought to introduce themselves to him, particularly if they thought he ought to know who they were. And her next statement staggered him. Somehow, she understood that he couldn't see her, and accepted the fact without question or concern; she also went so far as to realize he might be interested in what she was doing. As a matter of fact, he hadn't even thought to be curious about it, but he appreciated the information all the same.

He awoke to the fact that he was staring at her and forced himself to smile a little. "Hi, Luna," he said. "You're in Ravenclaw, right?"

"Yes," she said absently, likely not looking up from her magazine.

"Err, why are you reading it upside-down?" Harry asked.

"Because the story is printed upside-down," she explained in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he ought to have already guessed that.

"Wouldn't that mean you're actually reading the story right-way-up, then?" asked Harry with a wry smile.

Luna dropped the magazine to her lap. "You're right!" she said in surprise and Harry heard shuffling pages. "I'd better turn it over again," she said.

"But then you'll…" Harry started and cut himself off. Let Loony Lovegood read her old magazine whichever way she wanted to. Harry didn't care.

For the first time, Harry dozed on the train, and it seemed like no time had passed when he awoke to the snap and jerk of the train pulling into the Hogsmeade station. He was alone in the carriage, so he hurriedly pulled on his school robes and gathered his belongings. By the time he was ready to find his way out to the station, the train was empty and quiet.

Harry pushed his way through the corridor and then paused by a seat just before the door. From the seat, although he could not see a person sitting there, came the sound of muffled crying. Harry stood for a long moment pondering what he ought to do. Finally, he set down his things and bent forward with an outstretched hand. The seat was empty.

Harry stood listening for another long moment. The quiet sobs most certainly came from directly in front of him. He knelt and put a hand under the seat. Here, he had more success; he felt the cloth of school robes. A shoulder. A person huddled up under the seat. A very small person crying.

Sitting back on his heels, Harry considered. He could simply tell Hagrid that one of his firsties was still on the train, and Harry would have no more bother. He very nearly stood to do that, but something stopped him. For an instant, he imagined himself small again, terrified and alone on a train, hiding.

He reached under the seat again and patted the shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked.

The crying slowed and the shoulder squirmed until its owner had turned sufficiently to face Harry.

"Will it go back home again?" the voice was a girl's, small and frightened. "The train. Will it go back?"

"I don't know," said Harry. He had never considered what happened to the train once it dropped its load of students at the little station near the old castle. He doubted that it was stored in London, however. "I don't think so."

"I want to go back," said the little voice pitifully. "I don't want to go to a witch's school."

Harry sighed. Perhaps he should have pursued his original plan and notified Hagrid. He had no idea what to say to this timid little muggle-born who had never been away from home before. Only his escape from the Dursleys had kept him from being homesick when he had first come to Hogwarts, but he remembered how new everything had been. "It's okay," he said finally. "It will be okay."

He sat for a few more moments patting the child's shoulder. At last, she squirmed out from under the seat and stood, coolly appraising him as he squatted before her.

"Does that mean you're blind?" she asked, pointing to the white stick, which he held upright in his other hand, a staff that towered above his head.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said.

"But you're looking at me," said the girl with a confused tone.

"Well, I'm not totally blind," explained Harry. "I just don't see well enough to walk around without tripping on stuff." He smiled at her and she giggled a little. "Will you come with me, then?"

"All right," she said and he stood, collecting Hedwig's cage and his other luggage.

"Is that your owl?" she asked with appreciation for her lovely snowy plumage.

"Yeah, her name's Hedwig," said Harry. "Do you have a pet?"

"No," said the girl. "I didn't know we needed one."

"Well, maybe you can get one sometime," said Harry soothingly.

By this time, he'd found the door, the small girl trailing after him like a shadow. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally reached the fresh air of the platform.

"Let's find a carriage," said Harry to the waif beside him.

"They're all gone," she said sadly. "I can see them going up to the castle with their funny horses."

Harry frowned. "They don't have horses," he said.

"They do," she said earnestly. "I can see them. Funny horses with wings. You probably just can't see them."

Harry decided it wasn't worth arguing the point. He was quite sure the carriages had been bewitched to pull themselves, but at the moment it was the least of his worries. He wondered where Hagrid and the other first-years had gone, but figured they had already set out in their boats to cross the lake.

"We'll have to walk," he said, shrugging. "It's not far."

The girl sighed heavily, and Harry thought she must be longing again for her home and family. To be left behind like this must feel like the crowning insult from a place she did not want to be.

"Come on, then," he said as cheerfully as he could. "What's your name?" he asked as they walked. "Mine's Harry Potter."

She did not react to his name, a fact which increased his suspicion that she was raised in the Muggle world. "Jamie Mercer," she said briefly and fell silent, walking beside him along the dark lane.

"Potter." The sardonic voice crawled out of the dark to meet Harry as he approached the tall, forbidding gates. "You've nearly been locked out." Professor Snape loomed out of the night, a shadow among shadows as he stood by the iron gate. Jamie hid behind Harry.

"Hello, Professor," said Harry flatly. Without another word, Harry led Jamie through the gate and up the lane to the castle entrance. Luckily, they met the crowd of shivering first-years in the entrance hall, so he gave Jamie a little push toward her age-mates.

She clung to his wrist, fright giving her grip the strength of steel.

"It's okay," he whispered to her, giving her a reassuring little squeeze. Bravely, she let go of him and melted into the crowd of whispering eleven-year-olds. Harry flattened himself along the wall and sidled past them into the Great Hall, where the cacophony of a hundred voices nearly knocked him over, and the light from a hundred hovering candles made him wince.

As he learned last year, he found his seat using memory and hearing, and then he sat, just as Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat.

"There you are, Harry," whispered Hermione across the table. "What happened to you?"

"Sshh," he said. "I'll tell you later."

"Welcome!" said Professor Dumbledore congenially. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. We shall commence immediately with the Sorting before I give the start-of-term announcements."

At this, Professor McGonagall stepped briskly up the aisle between the house tables with her flock of frightened first-years straggling behind her. Harry, who hadn't paid much attention to the Sorting last year, pricked up his ears this time, wondering about the fate of his little friend. If he could have, he would have caught her eye and given her a wink of reassurance.

Professor McGonagall set the hat on its stool and, as usual, it burst into song, telling the students briefly about each of the four founders of the four Houses, and the qualities they most prized in the students they sought. Then Professor McGonagall set the first student, Tammy Adams, on the stool and clapped the hat onto her head.

"Ravenclaw!" the Hat shouted immediately.

It continued down the alphabet until it came to Jamie Mercer. Harry leaned forward onto his elbows as a small, timid figure mounted the stool and the big, pointed Hat was dropped onto her small head.

The Hat paused. Harry held his breath. Was it talking to her as it had spoken to him during his Sorting? Was it unsure, aware of the intensity with which she did not want to stay? Finally, it spoke. "Gryffindor!" it announced. Harry let out his breath in a whoosh.

"Do you know her?" whispered Hermione in surprise.

"I met her tonight on the train," said Harry in a low voice. "She was really scared."

After the first-year sorting was finished, Dumbledore stood again. "The Hat has an additional duty this year," he said, and an expectant hush fell over the hungry students.

"As you may have heard, our fellow wizarding schools, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, will be sending students to Hogwarts to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. As a show of international co-operation and goodwill, Hogwarts shall send in exchange eight students to each of the other schools. The students who study abroad this year will not only be ambassadors from Britain, but will learn about the methods and culture of their host schools."

A collective gasp went up from the assembled students. An exchange! Each student wondered who would be chosen to study abroad; some whispered uneasily among themselves, while others excitedly commented that they hoped they would be chosen. Harry sat frozen. He highly doubted he would be among those chosen to study abroad; after all, what Headmaster in his right mind would send a blind student on exchange?

Dumbledore continued. "I have asked the Sorting Hat to choose two students from each House who will benefit from the exchange, and who will best present Hogwarts to the greater wizarding population of Europe. Please Proceed."

The Sorting Hat, still sitting on its stool, burst into song again.

The Sorting Hat is put to work

Again to choose the worthy pair

Who goes along a brand-new way,

And leaves our Hallowed Halls so fair.

From Gryffindor, the ones most brave,

And Hufflepuff the loyal two;

The cleverest of Slytherin,

And Ravenclaw's best will only do.

So listen well, from first to last,

For if your name aloud I say

Your trunks you'll pack, your things you'll sack

And leave again the following day!

Harry sat uneasily in his seat, wondering who would be chosen and to which school they would go. He wished the Hat would hurry up and have it over. He was hungry. He didn't envy the students picked to go on exchange, but it did seem unfair that he probably would not even be considered for the position.

"Those who will go to Durmstrang," the Hat began, "from Slytherin, the students will be Adrian Pucey and Clive Tanner!"

Harry sat listening to the murmurs travel up and down the Slytherin table.

"Luna Lovegood and Mitchell Lewis will go from Ravenclaw," said the Hat smugly, and Harry thought it might be enjoying this a little too much.

"Representing Hufflepuff will be Hannah Abbott and Sarah Bright," continued the Hat. "And from Gryffindor, will be Jamie Mercer and…"

Harry held his breath.

"Harry Potter!"


	6. Chapter 6

Harry sat in stunned silence as chattering and whispering bloomed around him in a garden of comments, some envious, some congratulatory. As the Hat called out names of students who would be going to Beauxbatons, he sat still, a thousand thoughts all competing for his attention at once. Excitement and fear warred with one another inside of him. The adventure of going to a new place attracted him; at the same time, he would have to learn to get about in a new place, to recognize unseen hordes of new people.

At long last, the Sorting Hat finished its work, and Dumbledore went through the usual list of do's and don'ts that he invariably gave at the start of each term. Then he clapped his hands and announced the beginning of the Feast. Magically, each dish before them was filled with food, and the tantalizing smell wafted around the hall.

"Harry! What do you think? You get to go on exchange!" squealed Hermione from the opposite side of the table.

"I'm not sure what to think," said Harry slowly.

"It would just be so brilliant to study abroad," sighed Hermione in a faraway tone.

Harry didn't know what to answer, so he pretended to be busy filling his plate with unidentifiable food and eating, but he found his mind still spinning and he hardly tasted it. Durmstrang seemed so far away, far to the North, in Norway. It had a reputation for teaching the Dark Arts as well; Harry shivered at the thought.

When the Feast had ended and the students began straggling toward their dormitories, Professor McGonagall summoned Harry to accompany her to the Head table to speak with Professor Dumbledore for a minute.

"Harry, so you have been chosen as one of our exchange students to Durmstrang," began Dumbledore with a tone in his voice that made Harry wonder if his eyes still twinkled the way he remembered.

"Err, yes, sir," Harry agreed to the rhetorical statement.

"You godfather has been notified and has given his consent, of course," continued the Headmaster. "In fact, he thinks it will be a good experience for you."

Harry wondered who had really chosen the students and how long ago Sirius had known that Harry would go. He decided not to ask; rather, he stayed silent waiting for Dumbledore to go on.

"Out of concern for your safety, especially in light of the attack on you the summer before last, Feliss Eliot has kindly volunteered to accompany you, in disguise, of course," he said. Harry gave him a tight-lipped smile. Having Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, along would help him feel less afraid, although he wished Sirius or Lupin could also come.

As if reading his mind, Dumbledore said, "I have spoken with Professor Lupin regarding your transition and training in blindness skills. He assured me you will do fine with mobility. Apparently, Durmstrang will also be able to provide a teacher in that area. Do you have any questions?"

Harry's mind still spun out of control; he felt he could hardly grasp all that Dumbledore had thrown at him. 

"No," he said finally.

"All right then," said Professor Dumbledore. "We shall expect you in the entrance hall at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow to begin your journey to the north."

Harry nodded dumbly and turned to leave. A thought struck him and he pivoted again to face Professor Dumbledore who had risen from his place at the table. 

"Sir?" asked Harry.

"Yes, lad?" asked Dumbledore kindly.

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, unable to express the gratitude he felt at Dumbledore's willingness to let him go, at the care he'd taken to be sure Harry would be safe, and at the understanding he'd shown about the need for ongoing mobility training.

"You're most welcome, Mr. Potter," said Professor Dumbledore. He turned to address Professor Snape, who stood at his elbow, and Harry felt dismissed. Along with his friends, he wandered up toward Gryffindor Tower, suddenly painfully aware that he only had one night to spend in the comfortable, familiar dormitory before he would leave to attend an unknown school in the far North.

"Harry!" called Ron as he entered the portrait hole at last. Harry was surprised that Ron had spoken to him, but he supposed that the news of his departure had driven Ron's quarrel from his mind. "You get to study abroad! Bloody brilliant, mate!"

"Yeah," said Harry, forcing a smile.

"Do you think you'll learn Norwegian?" asked Ginny excitedly.

"I don't know," said Harry, to whom this thought had not yet presented itself.

"They teach students from all over," said Fred.

George added, "Yeah, Viktor Krum goes there and he's Bulgarian."

"I wonder what language they do use for classes," mused Hermione, who joined the circle of friends in front of the fire.

"I don't know," said Harry again as he sat and folded his cane.

"That translator Dad gave you for your birthday ought to come in handy," said Ron.

"It'll be awfully dark up there in the winter," said Hermione. "That far north and all."

"Really?" asked Harry; for the first time, feeling a measure of hope.

"Well, yeah," said Hermione. "They only get an hour or two of daylight in winter."

"Brilliant," breathed Harry, with the first real smile he'd given all day.

"You sound like you're part Vampire," teased Hermione, and the others laughed. Harry bared his teeth and grinned wickedly, causing another ripple of laughter.

Then Harry sobered. "I'll send an owl and tell you all about it," he said, a little wistfully.

"You're taking Hedwig, right?" asked Ron.

"Oh, yeah. And Crookshanks too," said Harry.

"Crookshanks is going with you?" asked Hermione in surprise. "I miss that old cat."

"I don't," said Ron immediately from where he sat on the arm of Hermione's chair, and for an answer, she punched him in the arm. "Ouch!" he responded, pretending to be hurt.

"Say hi to him for me, will you, Harry?" said Hermione and Harry promised that he would.

"Will you be learning the Dark Arts, do you think?" asked Ginny.

"I hope not," shuddered Harry.

"I heard they teach them there, just as a regular class," said Ron, but Fred interrupted.

"Don't believe everything you hear, little bro," he said.

"I hope you make lots of new friends there," said Hermione, but Ron pouted.

"You won't forget us, will you?" he said with mock self-pity.

"Probably," said Harry cheerfully. "I won't even remember your names when I get back."

"Likely enough," said Ron sourly, but Harry just laughed.

"I did meet someone who goes to Durmstrang, actually," he said, suddenly remembering.

"Really? When?" asked several voices together.

"At the Quidditch World Cup," said Harry. "Up on the concourse, this girl…" He trailed off, remembering the magic of her voice.

"Where was she from?" asked Ron excitedly.

"I'm not sure exactly. She said she was dancing for the Bulgarian team," said Harry.

"A Veela?" shrieked Ron, nearly falling off the arm of the chair. "You met a Veela?"

"Well, I…" Harry began.

"And you didn't tell me?" continued Ron.

"Well, I…" Harry tried again.

"And you didn't introduce me?" whined Ron.

"I guess I'll get to meet her again at school," said Harry smugly.

"Lucky!" said Fred and George together, and Ginny snorted.

"Harry, do they think you'll be safe?" queried Hermione anxiously.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry with apprehension.

"Well, just that you got attacked twice last year," Hermione said slowly, as if she felt unsure that she ought to bring it up.

"They're sending Crookshanks," said Harry.

"They wouldn't send him if there was any danger," said Fred.

"Yeah, no one would put our ickle Harrykins in harm's way," crooned George, and Harry grinned. Never before had they used the teasing diminutive on him and it made him feel like one of them.

"I wonder if they play Quidditch there," mused Harry after a pause.

"Der, Harry! Krum plays Quidditch," said Ron impatiently.

"It doesn't mean the school has teams," argued Harry, and nobody answered him because nobody knew.

Later, in his bed in the boy's dorm, Harry lay looking at the back side of his bed curtains. A ribbon of moonlight sliced through the crack where the curtain came together, but he didn't feel like sitting up to close it, so he lay looking at it and thinking.

He and Ron had played Exploding Snap with his new cards, even coaxing Hermione to play since she didn't have any new assignments to study. She had asked Harry to write out the alphabet in Braille for her so she could learn it to write him letters. He gave her his extra Braille slate for the purpose.

Harry shifted restlessly in his bed. The shaft of moonlight crawled slowly up his coverlet toward his chin, narrowing as it went and the angle got steeper. Again, he felt the odd double-minded sensation in which half of him reached out toward adventure, while the other half of him wanted nothing more than to stay right where he was, enjoying a hundred more such evenings around the fire with his friends.

The sliver of moonlight had nearly reached his chin now. By the time it had climbed onto his face, it had become so narrow that it disappeared and he was left in total darkness, staring up at the unseen underside of his bed canopy. He wondered if it was still red. The idea that someone could come in here and change it without him being aware of the difference unsettled him.

At last, just before morning, Harry fell into a restless sleep. He dreamed he was in a dim, shadowy, outdoor place. Looking around, he could see lumpy bits of tombstones, identifying the place as a graveyard. Trees hung long arthritic arms over the shabby, tilting stone markers. Harry took a step forward. In his dream, he knew he could not see, but at the same time he knew what was around him in startling, sharp detail. The marker next to him read, "Sacred to the memory of Fonda Blinnesbeck." From the darkness came a chilling laugh.

Harry woke, sweating and shivering. Early morning light filled the room and peeped through the slit in the bed curtain. Harry was sure it was still much too early to be up, but he sat up in bed, trying to shed the memory of the vivid, haunting laugh. He rummaged in his trunk at the foot of the bed for paper, slate, and stylus. Maybe doing something ordinary would take his mind off the dream.

Chewing on the tip of the stylus for a minute, he thought about what he wanted to write, then began composing a letter to the Shop of Requirement, ordering a Braille watch, a slate to replace the one he'd given Hermione, and a Hansel-and-Gretel. It had occurred to him that since he'd gotten lost so many times in a place he knew as well as Hogwarts, learning to navigate the school at Durmstrang would be a lot of work.

The concentration it took to write a letter in Braille distracted his mind from the dream, and although he discovered several mistakes in rereading what he'd written, he was pleased with his efforts. He did his best to correct the mistakes; then he set the letter on the bedside table to send later.

By this time, the other four boys had pulled themselves out of bed and were blearily getting washed and dressed. Harry joined them as they headed out of the dorm and toward the Great Hall for breakfast. He tried to eat the bangers on his plate, but his stomach seemed full of a hard lump of anticipation. It was a relief to him when he found himself at last in the entrance hall with the other exchange students, who hung about in silent groups of two or three, nervously awaiting their coming journey.


	7. Chapter 7

A raw, chilly wind whipped around the faces and hair of the students who stood on the front steps to welcome the delegations from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, and who would travel in the conveyances that brought the new students to Hogwarts.

Harry squinted against the glaring light from the white mass of clouds that hid the sky overhead. He did not know if it was due to his lack of sleep the night before, but he felt as though he could see almost nothing but white, even with the new red lenses. He stood shivering in the thrashing wind, wishing that he knew what would soon happen.

The first thing he heard was a great splashing noise coming from the lake, and he wondered briefly if the giant squid had made an appearance, but at the gasp of surprise from his fellow students, he guessed probably not. The splashing continued, and he heard comments like, "Look, it's a great, big ship!"

He learned later that a galleon, old and battered, had risen up from the middle of the lake, dripping with seaweed and encrusted with barnacles. As it dried, the pennants unfurled, and its tattered sails brought it near the edge of the lake. With great dignity, the occupants of the ship disembarked along a gangplank and causeway that had apparently been built or conjured for the purpose, though no one mentioned seeing it before.

Professor Dumbledore stepped forward to welcome the guests; at the same time, the assembled group of Hogwarts students followed in his wake as he walked toward the huge, creaking vessel.

"Welcome!" said the headmaster warmly, and he was greeted in return by the highmaster of Durmstrang, Igor Karkaroff.

"Professor Dumbledore, I greet you," said Karkaroff formally. "I shall see my students into your school, and then I shall escort your students back to my school as we have arranged."

"Yes, would you like my students to begin boarding immediately?" asked Dumbledore politely.

"That would be acceptable," said Karkaroff.

Harry felt a small hand creep into his as they moved toward the ship. He looked down in surprise, but it was the voice of Jamie Mercer that told him it was she who had sought comfort at his touch.

"Will we go under the water?" she whispered fearfully.

"I think so," Harry whispered back. "If that's how they came."

"I-I-I don't think I want to," said Jamie softly.

"It's going to be all right," said Harry with more assurance than he felt.

They walked onto the gangplank together. As they crossed onto the ship, Harry heard exclamations of surprise from those around him. He leaned close to Jamie. "What is it?" he asked her quietly.

"The ship looks brand new," she said back to him. "It's all shining and there is gold everywhere. It must be enchanted to look old and falling apart from the outside but new and beautiful inside."

Harry smiled, picturing the shining ship with fresh rigging and gold-plated fittings. He felt grateful for Jamie's guiding hand as they filed along the deck toward the stern, where they descended a ladder to the cabins below-deck. Once below, his eyes relaxed in the dim light and he could see again. Delightedly, he took in the wood paneling, touching the berths and tables to try to quickly orient himself within the small space.

It seemed like no time at all had passed when they heard the tramp of several heavy boots overhead. A whistle sounded, and Harry understood it to mean that they were supposed to report to the deck when most of the other Hogwarts students hurried in that direction. It occurred to him that the other students had probably been on boats before, but when Dursleys had vacationed on the Isle of Wight, they had left him home with Mrs. Figg and her numerous cats. Other than the tiny rowboat Uncle Vernon had used that notable weekend of his eleventh birthday, and Hagrid's boats for the first-years, Harry had never been on a boat.

Jamie guided him around piles of rope, spools and crates and other items he could not see as they followed the others onto the deck. Once there, they found not only Karkaroff, but, to Harry's surprise, Professor Snape, who appeared to Harry to be holding a large, soft pillow. A moment later, he recognized it as a cat when Snape handed it to him, saying sourly, "You forgot your cat, Potter."

"Thank you, Sir," said Harry, tucking Crookshanks awkwardly under his arm.

Snape addressed the assembled students. "I will be accompanying you as your chaperone," he said as though the words had a bitter taste to them. "As soon as Highmaster Karkaroff is ready, we shall set sail."

"Yes, thank you Professor Snape," said Karkaroff. "We shall embark in precisely ten minutes."

The students were ushered back below deck to be out of the way of the crew. Harry sat tensely on the edge of his bunk, waiting for the minutes to tick past. Beside him on the hard, narrow mattress, Crookshanks rolled himself into a luxurious ball and began purring. Grateful for the comforting presence of the big cat, Harry stroked him absentmindedly.

"That's a pretty cat," ventured Jamie timidly. Harry had momentarily forgotten she was there, and felt a flash of annoyance at this constant little shadow. Conveniently, he forgot, too, the way she had subtly guided him around the deck only a short time before.

"Thanks," he said shortly. She said nothing, and he began to feel badly about being cross with her. "His name's Crookshanks. Would you like to pet him?"

"Oh yes," she said with enthusiasm, and soon she was sitting on the other end of Harry's bunk, stroking the cat, who stretched and purred.

Shouts sounded overhead, and Harry heard the rattling of ropes and pulleys as the ship cast off from the quay.

"I wish we could watch," he said, almost before he thought.

"There's a porthole, at least," said Jamie, looking over her shoulder at the small, round window, set deeply in the ship's side. "Harry!" she gasped in dismay, "we're going under the water!"

They both stood and rushed to the porthole. Harry watched the sunlight disappear as the ship plunged under the lake.

"It's so beautiful," sighed Jamie, with a complete turnabout of emotion, and then she grasped Harry's arm in surprise. "A mermaid! I'm sure I saw a mermaid."

"Really?" asked Harry. "Where?"

"There's another one," she said, not answering him. He stared into the murky distance, but saw nothing distinct except the rays of light slanting through the water close to the ship. He frowned with frustration.

All at once, a wall of rock rose up quite close to the porthole, and with a whoosh, the ship entered a dark, underwater tunnel. The light in the porthole was blotted out, leaving only the thin light of the flickering lantern that swung from the ceiling overhead. Harry returned to his bunk and the cat, but Jamie stayed peering out the porthole. From time to time, she made comments like, "wow, an eel," but Harry stopped paying attention. It seemed hours that they traveled in a dark, silent cocoon.

With a lurch that left his stomach somewhere behind them, Harry felt the ship begin to rise quickly. Light again illumined the porthole, and in just a few minutes, the ship had broken the surface of the water. Everyone stood, and all of them were chattering and trying to pop their ears. The hatch opened and a draught of icy air accompanied Professor Snape down the ladder.

To each student, he issued a fur cap and coat. These were donned, and then the students hurried on deck to take in their first view of the new countryside. The boat had emerged in a long finger of water between two steep banks of dark trees on either side. Sea birds flew with ringing cries overhead, and the smell of brine told Harry the ocean must be nearby.

The quay at which they presently docked was made of stone, not wood, and when Harry later stepped onto it, it looked as old and crumbling as Jamie had said the ship first did. With Crookshanks settled around his shoulders like an orange muffler, Harry followed the group of students along the top of the quay, treading carefully on the stones that were covered in a slippery layer of rime. Jamie, who walked beside him, once pulled him away from the edge where the stones had crumbled away, leaving a jagged gap.

They reached the edge of the quay, and found a steep set of stone stairs leading upward through the thick forest. Harry found the uneven steps difficult to see and even more difficult to climb. Every few steps, he had to adjust to avoid twisting an ankle, and soon he and Jamie were far behind the others. Jamie's breath came in gasps, and she seemed to be growing tired.

At last, they rounded a bend and the trees opened out in front of them. Harry and Jamie both looked up to see a tall, narrow Gothic castle outlined against the leaden sky. A croaking raven circled its tallest tower; its cries seemed anything but welcoming. Harry felt Jamie's hand once again seek solace in his own.

It took them another quarter of an hour to climb the remaining stairs to the castle, which, upon closer inspection, did not seem any less forbidding than it had at first glance. Made of dark, crumbling stone, it had the appearance of being abandoned. Wind whistled unceasingly around its ancient corners.

Only when they had walked right up to its gaping mouth of a missing front gate, did Professor Snape speak a word Harry had never heard before. Immediately, a strong, wooden door appeared in the jagged opening, the missing stones materialized, and lights began to blaze from every window, penetrating the gloom of early evening. Snape strode to the door and banged the heavy iron knocker three times. Nothing happened.

Unperturbed, he banged three more times and the gates swung silently open from the inside.

It was only at this moment that Harry realized Karkaroff was not with them. Had he gone back to Hogwarts?

"Can you see the water?" he asked Jamie urgently.

She looked down behind them, back along the way they had just climbed, to the water in the fjord far below.

"The ship," she said quietly to him, "it's leaving."

"I thought so," said Harry. They would not be going back home for a long time. Harry's shiver was not from the icy wind.

Dwarfed by the enormous wooden doors, the small knot of Hogwarts students entered the castle of Durmstrang. Once they were all inside, the doors rumbled shut behind them with an ominous clang. They stood in an echoing entrance hall that was lit far overhead by dim shafts of fading daylight.

They stood alone, looking around them, wondering where they ought to go.

At last, a round wizard, swathed in musty fur, hurried up to them. "Wilkommen, Welcome!" he said breathlessly. "Mine apologies for not meeting you sooner. Grosskopf is my name, Professor Grosskopf."

Professor Snape bowed stiffly but did not acknowledge the apology.

"Come, come, you must be warmed and fed," said Professor Grosskopf, gesturing them to follow him. He led them up a staircase and along a fusty corridor, around several corners and up another, narrower staircase. As he went, Professor Grosskopf kept up a thickly accented stream of introduction and commentary about the history of the castle to which no one listened.

Harry tried to keep track of the turns and stairs to begin making his mental map, but after the seventh turn, he felt his brain slipping into nothingness. Jamie still had his hand, and he relied upon her guidance as much as she seemed to draw comfort from him. Once, when he tripped on a small, unexpected stair, she squeezed his hand sympathetically.

They finally arrived at a wooden door, hidden under a hanging tapestry. Grosskopf pushed his way inside, and with a flick of his wand, he lit a fire in the grate. The room, which felt dark and fusty, like the rest of the castle they had seen so far, echoed upward to vaulted ceilings and seemed to be filled with chairs and tables, though Harry couldn't tell for sure. His nose told him that somewhere near, a sideboard held food: a roast and possibly vegetables. His stomach grumbled.

"This tower will be your quarters for your stay here at Durmstrang," Professor Grosskopf announced to nobody in particular; then, without further comment, he left the room. As if his going had been a signal, the hungry Hogwarts students surged toward the buffet. Soon they were sitting at various tables with full plates.

Harry found himself sitting with Adrian and Clive, the two Slytherin students. He reflected how little the house rivalries seemed to matter now that they were united as Hogwarts students, strangers in a strange land.

Later, in the boys' dormitory, they were joined by Mitch Lewis from Ravenclaw.

"Isn't this brilliant?" asked Clive, as the boys discovered their trunks and began claiming beds and staking territory with castoff clothes, carelessly thrown on chairs.

"Seems a bit dark," said Mitch.

"Yeah," said Harry with enthusiasm. So far, the dimness had exactly suited him.

"You like it dark?" asked Mitch, surprised.

"Well, yeah," said Harry. An uncomfortable silence followed. Harry debated whether to tackle the elephant in the room or leave it. He felt tired. Tired of explaining, tired of concentrating on every step, tired of anticipating the unknown. He sighed and said nothing, but folded his cane with a vicious snap and set it on the bedside table, climbed into bed, and rolled over with his back to the others. Crookshanks hopped up onto the bed next to him and curled in a warm ball at the small of his back.

Harry wondered if the other boys had exchanged suspicious glances that he could not share, but exhaustion overtook him, and he no longer cared.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, the Hogwarts students were surprised to learn that Durmstrang students did not dine together in one hall like they were accustomed to at home. Instead they ate together in their common room as they had the night before; later they were summoned after breakfast to the Assembly that would begin each day. It was there that the school gathered to hear the day's announcements and to sing the school song. This was in German, and only Harry, using the little earpiece Mr. Weasley had given him, could understand it.

Durmstrang, Durmstrang!

Die Mutter an die ich mich lehne,

die mich nährt und führt.

Der Vater, wessen stolzer Sohn ich bin

und wessen Licht für alle scheint.

Durmstrang, Durmstrang!

Ich werde immer zu dir gehören,

dank dich gehe ich stolz und stark.

Der große Nordstern für mich

bist du Durmstrang!

Durmstrang! Durmstrang!

The Mother at whose knee I lean,

who nurtures and guides,

The Father whose son I'm proud to be,

whose light shines for all.

Durmstrang! Durmstrang!

True to thee I'll always be,

From thee I go in pride and tall

The great North Star

is Durmstrang fair.

To Harry, who had assumed the rugged cadence would imply words matching the dark castle and its dark reputation, felt surprise at these words. He wondered what Professor Snape thought of them, but he could not read the Professor's face as he sat grimly beside Harry on the stone bench.

Class schedules were handed out next by a diminutive witch that Harry later found out was actually a hag. Her name was Professor Morrigana and she taught knitting. Harry received the stiff schedule card into his hand, but squint as he might at it, he could not make out the letters. He wished Hermione was sitting beside him; until that moment, he hadn't realized how much he relied upon her to notice that he needed help and to read something quietly to him. He bit his lip in frustration, wondering what to do.

The other students were already getting up and moving off, and Harry began to feel a bit panicky. He had no idea where to go, and he knew he ought to ask someone to read his card, but he felt frozen onto the hard stone bench. He wished he could grab his broom out of his trunk and fly out of this dark, creepy castle and back to Hogwarts, where he knew everyone and knew where to go.

As he sat, heart pounding, he heard the last thing he expected: the tap of a long, straight cane on the stone floor.

"Potter? Harry Potter?" The voice was old and cracking, with the lilt of an Irish accent. That sound of home, along with his name, washed over Harry like the warming spray of a hot shower after a cold walk.

"I'm Harry Potter," he said, a little hesitantly.

"Harry Potter," said the old man, stopping in front of Harry and standing with his legs planted. Now that Harry knew where to look, he saw a tall, somewhat stooped, white-haired man resting folded hands on the top of a long, white cane. Harry felt a thrill of shock at the sight of it, the only one besides his own he had ever been close to. He could not make out the man's face, and he waited expectantly. 

"I was told to find you," the man continued. "I'm Professor Homer O'Carolan, and I'll be your Mobility instructor."

"You, Sir?" Harry was surprised into rudeness.

"Who better to teach blindness skills than a blind man, eh?" laughed the man and felt his way to the nearest bench, where he lowered himself stiffly to a seat. "Give me your schedule card."

"Sir?" Harry asked again.

"Your schedule card," said Professor O'Carolan impatiently. "They gave you a schedule card and you cannot read it. Am I right?"

"Errr, yes, Sir," said Harry in amazement.

"I thought so," said the man smugly. He held out a hand toward Harry, snapping his fingers with impatience. "Come on, hand it over."

Realizing, to his dismay, that he was the more sighted of the two, Harry held out the card, hoping he could find the hand of the man impatient to receive it. Only then did he realize the snapping fingers were an auditory cue rather than a sign of impatience and he placed the card in the man's hand.

Professor O'Carolan took the card and tapped it with his wand. "Subula Scribo," he said and held it out again toward Harry. "Here you are."

Harry took the card and found it covered now with Braille, much to his delight.

"A transcription charm?" he asked with delight. "I thought those were supposed to have too many errors?"

"Pah," said O'Carolan dismissively. "Who cares about errors? You couldn't read your card and now you can. So what if there are a few errors?"

Harry laughed. Who indeed? "Will you teach me the charm?" he asked.

"What, are you deaf too? I just did," said O'Carolan sharply. "What's your first class, then?"

Taken aback, Harry began slowly to read the card. "Errr," he said as he traced over and over the first line, trying to get his fuddled brain to concentrate on the dots.

"Come on, Lad. What's it say?" asked O'Carolan. "They told me you know how to read Braille."

"I do, but..." began Harry, but he drifted off, still trying to untangle the sentence under his fingers. "It says Divination," he said finally.

"Ahh, my class," said O'Carolan with satisfaction. "You may come with me."

"Sir?" began Harry cautiously as they began walking out of the assembly hall.

"Been blind me whole life. Birth defect," said O'Carolan shortly.

Harry, who had been about to ask where to find the loo, blinked in surprise, but said nothing, trying to gather his scattered wits.

"That is what you were going to ask?" said the Professor.

"Err, not exactly," said Harry slowly.

"Damn," said the old man. He stopped and stepped close to Harry. "I'll tell you, of course. But promise you won't tell a soul. Not a living soul now. Promise," he said harshly.

"Tell me what?" asked Harry, simultaneously curious and a trifle frightened.

"Well, I'm supposed to know the future, to read men's thoughts, you know?" said the man in a hurried undertone. "I teach Divination, after all. I'm perfect for the job. The blind seer and all that rubbish."

Harry wasn't following. "Sir?"

"Oh, you kids," said the man with disgust. "Never read anything. Mythology, lad, the classics. The blind seer. The blind man is always supposed to have second sight. How do you think I got this job?"

"But you don't?" asked Harry tentatively.

"Of course not," snorted the man. "But I am a very good guesser." He laughed through his nose, a snort that sounded like the whinny of a horse.

Harry was beginning to follow the man's train of thought now. "Except…" he prompted.

"Except when blind kids like you come along and ask the wrong questions," finished the man with a smile in his voice.

"The wrong questions," repeated Harry. "Of course."

"So what were you going to ask me?" said Professor O'Carolan.

"Oh, right," said Harry, struggling to keep up with the man's rapid thought processes. "I was going to ask where the, err, where the…" he found himself reddening.

"Ahh!" said the man with delight. "Yes, you would want to know where that is. Come along, I'll show you."

"You can't read thoughts?" asked Harry with a smile.

"Sshhh," said O'Carolan. "You promised, now."

Harry, who hadn't promised anything, ran completely out of words and followed his companion down the corridor in silence. The man walked with a brisk confidence that told Harry of the years he had spent becoming intimately acquainted with the castle in which he lived. Had he but known, the man would have walked with the same brisk pace even if he was suddenly transported to a completely unfamiliar location. But Harry would learn this detail later.

"Here you are," said the old man with a flourish.

"Sir?" asked Harry.

"The facilities. The bathroom. The crapper, the loo, the water closet, the toilet, the place where you might spend a penny or take a dump," said O'Carolan edgily.

"Okay, okay," laughed Harry, and gratefully headed in.

Harry's classes that day were a confusing jumble of voices and trying to keep from getting lost. In spite of his impatience, Professor O'Carolan was a help, and there were several times throughout the day that Harry found himself back in the Divination classroom asking for directions or to have a syllabus Brailled. He tried to get the transcription charm to work himself, but he ended up with a paper full of randomly-placed holes.

Besides Divination, Harry had Arithmancy, which he had never studied before; Astronomy, which he found to his dismay would be taught entirely indoors; and knitting. Why knitting was a required course at Durmstrang, Harry could not fathom, but when he asked Professor O'Carolan about it, the Professor merely said, "you don't know?" as if Harry was as thick as a plank, and Harry gave up trying to reason it out.

It was during knitting class that Harry at last heard the warm, chocolaty voice, and realized he had subconsciously been listening for it since he'd arrived.

She caught up to Harry as they left the classroom, as Harry hoped she would. "Harry Potter," she said archly.

"Natalia," he said in answer, breathing in the scent of her perfume.

"Oh, so you remember me," she said with a tinkling little laugh that rang in Harry's ears like golden bells.

"How could I forget you?" said Harry softly; then he flushed pink. "Errr, I mean, yes, I remember you."

"Well, I'll see you around," she said, her voice full of meaning and promise. She brushed the back of his hand with her fingertips, sending electric tingles shooting up his arm. He stood frozen in the hallway as students pummeled him from behind, trying to push their way around him.

Finally, he joined the tide of human bodies, heading back toward the Hogwarts common room and dinner.

On the way, he found himself joined by quite a different person in the form of Luna Lovegood.

"How do you like Durmstrang so far?" she asked.

"Well…" he said slowly, his nose still full of the Veela's scent. He shook himself. "How do you like it?"

"Too many Nargles," she said cryptically.

"Err, yeah," said Harry as they entered their common room.

Later, as they sat before the fire, Harry realized he had left the letter he'd written to the Shop of Requirement sitting on the bedside table back in the dorm in Gryffindor Tower. Since no one else could read it, it would likely stay there. Harry ground his teeth, and pulled out his slate and paper to begin another one.

An owl knocked at the closed window. Harry rose to open it, and discovered that he could not find the catch. Frustration rose higher inside him. Someone joined him at the window.

"It's okay to ask for help," said Luna matter-of-factly, as she reached up to open the catch.

"It's a stupid window," growled Harry, the built-up strain of the day spilling out in furious anger. "It's only a stupid window. I should be able to open a stupid window."

Luna did not answer as the owl, who had been knocking, alighted on the sill and hooted softly.

"Isn't that your owl?" asked Luna.

"Hedwig," said Harry in surprise. He caressed her snowy feathers with his hands and felt down her leg for the letter she brought. Although her feathers were damp, the letter was dry, thanks to Hermione's birthday present. Harry took it with shaking hands, his insides still seething.

"Is that Braille?" asked Luna curiously as Harry unfolded the letter.

"Mmm-hmmm," said Harry absently, running his fingers over the bumps. None of the words made sense, and he turned the paper around, starting over. This, he discovered, did not help much, and with much effort he made out the contents of the letter:

Diar harry?

Hirmeone is teecheng me brail. How es Durmstranq? E cant rimimber which way e goes or i, sorry. But E wanted to rite to you mysilfand till you we mess you.

You freind,

ron Wiasliy.

Suddenly Harry began to laugh, much to Luna's bewilderment. All of the tension and mistakes and moments of getting lost from the past day, culminating in his failure with the window, came rolling out of him in one long burst of helpless laughter.

"The letter's from Ron," he told Luna.

"Why is it so funny?" she asked.

"I have no idea," said Harry, and went upstairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry never did get around to writing to the Shop of Requirement. He told Professor O'Carolan about the Hansel-and-Gretel Retriever and the old wizard scoffed.

"Bloody bit of rubbish," he growled. "Use your head, Lad, not trinkets, and you'll not get lost."

"Don't you ever get lost?" Harry asked him.

"I?" said the man gruffly. "Of course I get lost! All the time! I'm blind, after all."

"But…" Harry said, confused.

"The trick," said O'Carolan, "is to keep going. Eventually, you will become un-lost again."

"Really?" asked Harry skeptically.

"It's always worked for me," said O'Carolan. "I just keep going in the general direction I need to go and eventually I always get there."

Harry considered this. "Perhaps you could show me?" he asked.

"Well, I suppose so. Meet me after your classes this afternoon at the front door. I could use some fresh air anyway," said the professor.

Harry's first class that day was Potions. Unlike Potions at Hogwarts, the classroom was up in a tower, not down in the dungeons. Unfortunately, Harry took a wrong turn and found himself back at the Hogwarts common room rather than the Potions classroom. With a sinking feeling, he knew he was going to be late to class.

He was surprised, however, to find Adrian Pucey coming out of the common room.

"Wh-what are you doing here, Potter?" he asked in a wary tone.

"Err, I… forgot my book," lied Harry, not wanting to admit he had gotten lost.

"I'll wait for you," said Adrian.

"You're in Potions?" asked Harry in surprise.

"I-I didn't pass last year," said Adrian in a hurry, and Harry suddenly felt badly for lying to him.

"It's ok," he said. "I didn't forget my book. I-I-I sorta got lost," he said, feeling his face grow hot.

"Oh, that's not a big deal," said Adrian. "I'll go up with you."

"Thanks," said Harry. He realized he'd never spoken with the Slytherin chaser before. Again, he was struck with how little it seemed to matter that he was a Gryffindor and Adrian Pucey was a Slytherin. Here, they were both Hogwarts' students, and they somehow needed one another.

They hurried through the halls, arriving breathlessly at the Potions Tower just before Professor Snape closed the door.

Professor Snape seemed to be his usual grouchy self in Potions. The change in location hadn't appeared to affect him at all. He handed out a parchment with the instructions for a calming potion, a kin to the stress-relieving potion from last year, but this one needed a more subtle touch.

Harry discovered he needed Hermione to read it to him. Pinching his lips together, he touched the parchment with his wand, and hoping his spell would work, he whispered "Subula Scribo," at it. Feeling the paper, he found that the first line had appeared in Braille. When he tried it again, the second line appeared, but the first had disappeared again. Harry frowned. It was better than nothing.

It took him the entire class period to translate the paper, line by line. The other students had finished and bottled their potions, except Adrian, who was still frowning at his paper and fiddling with his cauldron. Harry had no time to ponder this, since he had his own problem in the form of Professor Snape, who stood ominously over his table.

"Potter," he said furiously. "I see you have not even begun brewing your potion."

"N-n-no, Sir," said Harry. "You see, Sir…" he began, but Snape cut him off.

"You were given plenty of time to brew this simple potion," said Snape, and Harry could hear the sneer in his voice. "You will receive no grade for this lesson."

"But, I…" Harry tried to explain.

"No excuses, Potter," said Snape and turned on his heel.

Furious, Harry packed up his bag and flung his way out of the room, bashing into a Durmstrang student he didn't notice just outside the door.

"Watch it!" said the male voice.

"Sorry," mumbled Harry, turning to leave, but the Durmstrang student caught a handful of Harry's robes, pulling him around to face him.

"'Sorry' doesn't cut it around here," said the boy. "Do you know who I am?" The tone had a Malfoy-ish ring to it that immediately aroused Harry's ire.

"A creep?" said Harry innocently.

The boy frothed with anger. "I'll have you know I am Alexei Carrow. The Deputy Highmaster is my Uncle."

"And I should care, why?" said Harry carelessly, although his heart had begun to pound.

"Because I can take you and no one will care," said the boy, who was several inches taller than Harry. Because he had fought Malfoy last year, Harry wasn't too worried, until the boy pulled him close and Harry felt the grip of steel on his arms.

Someone walked up behind Harry. "Picking on a blind kid?" asked Adrian mildly. Adrian, a fifth year, stood a good head taller than Harry and could probably lift his own weight. Alexei Carrow changed his tone immediately.

"Of course not," he said genially, letting Harry's robe go. "I have more class than that. But remember, Potter, I'll have my eye on you."

When he'd gone, Harry turned to Adrian. "Thanks," he said.

"No big deal," said Adrian with a shrug. "That potion was a bugger, yeah?"

"You thought so too?" asked Harry in surprise. "It's not supposed to be that hard. I could have done it if I'd had more time to read the instructions."

"That's just my problem too," said Adrian.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry. "You can see it, can't you?"

"Well, yeah, I can see it fine, but I can't read it for some reason," admitted Adrian slowly. "The letters get all squiggly and I can't concentrate. It's always been that way."

Harry remembered a conversation from last year. "Did you know Dumbledore's the same way?" he asked.

"You're pulling my leg," said Adrian.

Harry shook his head.

"Blimey," said Adrian slowly and Harry grinned.

"It's why I failed last year," said Adrian.

"Why didn't you tell someone?" asked Harry.

"No way," said Adrian. "I'd rather they just think I'm dumb."

Harry understood that. Sometimes he felt so tired of explaining what he couldn't see, so tired of asking for help with something he would have been able to easily accomplish two years ago.

"Well, I'd read it to you, but I can't read it myself," laughed Harry and Adrian joined him.

"Brothers in the Guild of the Unreaders," he said, holding up a fist, and Harry laughed again. "Watch out for that Carrow kid. He looks like a mean one."

"I'll just keep you around," said Harry, still chuckling.

They went their separate ways, and Harry concentrated on finding his way down to the dungeons for Defense Against the Dark Arts, or as his schedule simply called it, "Dark Arts." Harry wondered which it was.

He tried O'Carolan's technique. The logic was that since he needed to be on the lowest floor of the castle, if he simply continued downward, he'd eventually arrive at the dungeons. Real life and the layout of Durmstrang Castle, however, did not follow Harry's logic. He descended stairs, rounded corners and then came to more stairs that only went up. If he retraced his steps, he came to more stairs that went up. Finally, his sense of direction hopelessly muddled, he ascended a stair, feeling as though he might as well climb to the nearest tower and skip Dark Arts altogether.

At last, through trial and error, he finally found what he was seeking: the stairway to the dungeons. Miraculously, he wasn't late, due to an extra long class break, but he hadn't had time to find a loo and he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. This discomfort increased when he found out that the teacher was none other than Alexei's uncle himself. Deputy Highmaster Carrow stood tall in front of his class, and though Harry couldn't make out his features, he pictured a dark frown.

"Welcome," he said slowly, "to Defense Against the Dark Arts. As everyone knows, Durmstrang is reputed to actually teach the Dark Arts, but I'd like to put that rumor to rest here and now. Still, occasionally one is called upon to fight fire with fire, as it might be said."

Harry wondered just exactly what might be meant by this statement.

"I will be watching," Carrow continued, "for skill in wand-work, for cunning and cleverness and quick thinking. Hard work will be rewarded in this class. Impudence will not." He paused for a long moment and Harry squirmed, wondering if his nephew had already reported the encounter in the hallway. Harry knew sooner or later he'd fall under the scrutiny of the Deputy Highmaster; he wasn't exactly in a position to be inconspicuous.

Carrow went on in this way for some time, and Harry found his attention wandering. Perhaps the man was more hot air than anything, but Harry still felt something warning him not to underestimate the Deputy Highmaster.

At last, the students were released to return to their common rooms for lunch. Harry found his afternoon classes much more easily, since several other Hogwarts students also attended the same classes. First, they had History of Magic, taught by the inimitable Professor Grosskopf, and then Practical Magic, which turned out to be a combination of Transfiguration and Charms. Harry decided it probably was a good thing he hadn't managed to buy himself a watch yet, because he would have been checking it every five minutes all afternoon.

Even boring classes come to an end eventually, however, and Harry hurried to the front door to meet Professor O'Carolan. He wasn't sure why he was so excited; he supposed he felt more curiosity than anything else.

He'd never met another blind person before. He'd had no idea that a man, blind from birth, could move with such confidence. It gave Harry an odd feeling, but it also drew him like a magnet. He wanted that ease of motion, to feel the freedom he only felt sporadically on his broomstick, the ability to move through his hazy, shadowy world without fear or hesitation.

"Harry?" said O'Carolan as he approached.

"Yeah, I mean, it's me," said Harry, suddenly aware that the courtesy of self-identification he wished others would extend to him also needed to be extended by him to the blind Professor. He felt suddenly uncomfortable.

"It's all right, you know," said O'Carolan gently, and Harry once again had the odd feeling that the old man could indeed read his thoughts.

"I guess I'm not used to another blind person," Harry admitted, deciding that honesty would probably earn him fewer reproofs from the testy Professor.

"How many other blind people have you known?" asked O'Carolan.

"Err, none," admitted Harry.

"Then how could you possibly be expected to know how to behave around one?" asked the old man, opening the large front doors as he spoke. Sunlight hit Harry full in the face, and the sudden pain made him gasp. "Light hurt?" asked O'Carolan.

Harry, his eyes squeezed shut against the streaming tears, nodded. Then, he remembered. "Yes," he said simply. As a matter of fact, he'd not had that big of a shock for a long time. But the change from the darkness of the castle to the full-on brilliant sunlight came so unexpectedly, it hit him with the worst pain he'd experienced since those dreadful days in the Muggle hospital.

"One consolation of being totally blind," joked O'Carolan, but when he did not get a response from Harry, he drew near with concern, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry was bent double, the heels of his hands pressed against his streaming eyes.

"Are you all right, Lad?" the old man asked gently. Harry drew a shuddering breath, fighting to master the pain that tried to tear him apart.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I'll be all right." In a week, he added silently to himself.

"Drink this," said O'Carolan, pulling a small vial out of somewhere deep in his robes. He felt the side of the bottle before he gave it to Harry, and once he'd drunk the bitter contents, Harry curiously touched the little bottle himself. A Braille "P" met his touch.

"Pain," said O'Carolan, as if he'd seen Harry's gesture. "I have my fair share of running my old noggin into open doors and the like." Harry managed a wry grimace as the worst of the pain eased slightly. "Do you feel well enough to go on?" queried Professor O'Carolan anxiously.

In spite of the pain, Harry still felt curious. "I think so," he said.

With his cane, Professor O'Carolan quickly found a footpath leading around the side of the castle. Harry found it difficult to keep pace with his teacher, especially since his eyes kept involuntarily closing against the bright light. His pain eased when they entered a thick pine wood.

"Is this about getting lost?" asked Harry.

"Of course," answered Professor O'Carolan, who was by this time some distance ahead.

"Won't I just be able to follow the path back?" asked Harry.

"No," answered the Professor shortly and Harry said no more.

In spite of the pain in his eyes, Harry enjoyed that walk. The path, dirt though it was, wound a smooth, broad track through the pine wood and into the meadow that lay beyond it. The sun shone warm on Harry's neck in defiance of the nip of fall that did not leave the Northern air.

After an hour or so, Professor O'Carolan, who had gotten quite a ways ahead of Harry, stopped and waited for him to catch up. When Harry finally stood breathlessly beside him, the old man said, "Now, I have two things." He waved his wand over the path and to Harry's consternation, it disappeared. Then he pulled a long, silken scarf out of his pocket.

"I think this exercise might mean more to you if you wear a blindfold," the professor stated.

Harry thought of the darkened room he had endured when Professor Lupin had trained him. While he disliked total darkness, he also knew he would not have learned to aim spells by sound had he been able to see. "Okay," he said with a sigh. The professor bound his eyes gently but thoroughly with the soft scarf.

"See you back at the castle," said Professor O'Carolan cheerfully, and Harry heard his footsteps receding with a crackle across the rough ground.

"I thought you were going to teach me," called Harry after him.

"I am," replied the fading voice of the Professor.

"Great." Harry's voice sounded small and alone to his ears. He stood still, listening, thinking. The sun still shone warm on the back of his head. A chorus of birds rose suddenly out of the grass to his left. The scent of the sun-warmed glass reminded Harry vaguely of baking bread. He turned slowly in place, thinking about the landmarks he'd passed, the direction he'd need to go in order to find the castle again. For a moment, panic seized him. The slightest wrong turn and he'd wind up deep in the lonely pine woods, or worse, the top of a cliff.

Mentally, he shook himself. Professor O'Carolan would not have left him out here alone if he didn't think Harry could really make it back. At least, that's what Harry told himself.

Standing still where he was, Harry assessed all of the clues he could think of. He remembered Lupin telling him more than once: "Stop and think, Harry." He had the sun. It had been on the back of his neck most of the time they had been walking. Reversing direction would put it in his face. He also had the hill. Windy Durmstrang sat at the pinnacle of a craggy hill; as long as he was climbing, he ought to be heading toward the castle. Harry turned again and began to walk.

While he was thinking, the sun had sunk lower in the sky. He could feel it now, almost on a level with his face, and its warmth had begun to give way to the soft chill of early evening. Harry's panic rose again at the thought of being stranded out here in the cold night. He could try Accio Broom, fly back to the castle, take the stupid blindfold off, and be done with the whole thing. Perhaps he'd even get points with Professor O'Carolan for creative problem-solving.

Even while he considered this, something rose up in Harry, a determination to master whatever it was Professor O'Carolan wanted him to learn. Using his cane to probe the ground in front of him, Harry trudged up the hill until he began to feel branches brush his face.

The pine wood proved to be a difficult obstacle. Branches slapped him in the face, and the deeper he went, the thicker the brush seemed to get. Finally, he pushed his way through a tangle of brambles into a clear space. He could no longer feel the sun at all and he wondered how dark it was.

Grateful for the clearing, Harry walked forward, trying to imitate Professor O'Carolan's confident pace. His cane hit something hard, and seconds later, his shin hit it. "Ouch!" Harry said aloud, his voice eerie in that quiet place. He reached out a tentative hand. He felt cold stone, hard and smooth; its surface was flat but tilted somehow to the side. The sweep of his fingers encountered letters cut deeply into the surface of the stone. Curious, he traced the letters, his fingers more used now to doing his reading for him. "F. O. N. D. A. Space. B. L. I. N. N. E. S…" Harry jumped back as if he had been touching hot metal.

He stood, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He tore the blindfold off his face. The air really was dark now, greyed by the sunken sun and not yet lit by the moon. Even through the mist that lay constantly before his eyes, he recognized the graveyard. He had been here before. Only a few nights ago in his dream, before he had even come to this place, he had seen this graveyard, and he had read the name on the tombstone that stood at a crazy, drunken angle next to him. The name he could not now read with his eyes. The scarf fluttered, forgotten, behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry tore up the hill, away from the silent cemetery. He kept his cane, but did not use it as he ran through the grey twilight, instinctively now making for the castle, as if he had a homing beacon fixed on it. With one hand guarding his face from clawing branches and the other clutching a stitch in his side, Harry pounded onward.

The castle wall loomed before him and Harry stopped, hands on his knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He leaned his back against the comforting solidity of the stone wall. Once his breathing had slowed, he followed the wall until he found the gate and Professor O'Carolan, who waited for him.

"Harry! There you are. I was beginning to wonder if I ought to send a search party," the professor joked.

"I did make it back, didn't I?" said Harry in surprise. "I guess I quit thinking about it."

"You're just in time for dinner," said Professor O'Carolan, speaking the password that made the enchanted door appear.

"Good," said Harry, keeping his voice as level as he could. "I'm starving." 

In order to find a conveniently innocent subject, Harry asked, "Does Durmstrang have a Quidditch tournament?"

"We do indeed!" said Professor O'Carolan proudly. "You've perhaps heard of Viktor Krum, who played this year on the Bulgarian team at the World Cup?"

"Yeah," said Harry shortly.

"We will miss him this year while he is at Hogwarts," continued the professor, "but we have plenty of fine players still. I'll have to show you the stadium one of these days."

"Mmmm," agreed Harry, wondering if he would be allowed to play. Since watching Quidditch no longer held much appeal for him, he wanted to play if he could. They reached the Hogwarts common room and Professor O'Carolan bade him adieu.

It was only later, after Harry sat ensconced in an armchair before the fire in the common room, that he realized he had dropped the silk scarf in the old graveyard. He would have to go back to retrieve it, or O'Carolan might begin asking questions. The trouble was, he didn't know the word needed to get back into the castle. If he went out there tonight, he'd be trapped.

He'd simply have to wait.

That night, Harry dreamed again of the ancient graveyard. This time, he dreamed he was frozen, lying in place on top of a low, flat slab of stone, the letters of a name rough under the back of his head. He could see the sky with his dream-eyes, littered with stars between the irregular treetop. He heard breathing come close to him and someone stood over him holding a long, cruel knife.

Again, he heard a voice, indistinct but commanding, and heard again the cruel laugh, full of evil pleasure. He tried to move, to roll off the stone slab, but he was turned to ice on the cold, hard block. He awoke with a terrified gasp and lay trembling in his bed. For a long time, he could not find sleep again.

The next day, Harry had knitting class again with Professor Morrigana. The tiny hag had passed out metal knitting needles to each student in the previous class, along with skeins of yarn. She had tried to demonstrate the technique of casting on, but the utter disinterest of the class hampered her efforts. Today seemed to be going no better.

Harry pulled out his needles and the yarn, which had no color or definition, and half-heartedly tried to locate the end. He was distracted in his endeavor by Natalia slipping into the chair next to him. As the scent of the jasmine that she wore washed over him, Harry gave up entirely on his yarn and concentrated on breathing.

After class, during which Harry never did get his ball of yarn untangled, Natalia pulled him aside in the hallway.

"Natalia," he said, savoring the syllables on his tongue.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked in surprise.

"Are you kidding?" Harry said in reply. "I'd know you anywhere."

"You're too sweet," she said coyly, flipping her silvery hair back over her shoulder.

Harry cast about in his mind for something to say. His mouth felt suddenly dry. "Would you like to go for a walk with me?" he asked.

"Right now?" she asked.

"Well, yeah," Harry said.

"Sure," she agreed, and Harry's heart soared. "Where to?"

Harry hadn't thought about this. "Wherever you want," he said with a smile.

"Out in the sunshine, then," she said decisively. "This school, it's much too dark, don't you think?"

"Err, yeah," Harry lied. Although his eyes still ached from yesterday, he would have walked into the sun itself, had Natalia expressed a preference for doing so. She took his arm delicately, and Harry felt his insides clench at her touch. He straightened his back, wishing he could fold up his cane and hide it somewhere. He hadn't felt self-conscious about using it for a long time, but now, with this gorgeous girl on his arm, the cane somehow didn't mesh with the image he wanted to portray. Still, he figured it was better to use it than to trip down the stairs with her watching.

"Where are you from?" he asked to fill the silence.

"From Ukraine," she said in a rich, accented voice.

"Oh," said Harry, feeling stupid.

"My family is there still," she said, allowing a note of unutterably sweet sadness creep into her voice. "I miss them."

"Are they a wizarding family?" Harry asked.

She stopped, and turned to face him. "Of course! I am a Veela and I have the purest blood of any witch in this school." Her words had a chillingly cold edge.

"I-I-I'm sorry," stammered Harry. "Of course I should have known."

This seemed to mollify her and she took his arm again. They reached the front door; this time, Harry half-closed his eyes in anticipation of the searing light.

They walked slowly through the fall sunshine. Harry asked about her family in the Ukraine and discovered she had three younger sisters, too young yet for school. He also found that she had been dancing since she was a tiny child, under the best tutors her parents could find.

Natalia asked a few questions about Harry's family; he assumed she knew the Boy-Who-Lived story. He didn't want to talk, just to listen to her honey-sweet voice, so he continued asking her questions to get her to talk. Her touch sent shivers up and down his arm.

All too soon, the lunch hour ended, and they returned to the castle. Luckily for Harry, Natalia knew the castle password, and Harry listened, trying to catch it. He thought he finally heard the word correctly.

Harry's stomach rumbled as he made his way to the Arithmancy classroom. He settled himself into a seat, waiting for Professor Carrow to begin.

"The number thirteen," she intoned, "has powerful qualities and many uses."

Harry found his mind wandering back over the stolen hour he had spent with Natalia. The memory of her hair brushing the back of his hand made him shiver.

All day, Harry stayed happily wrapped in a dazed daydream. He floated through Astronomy class without even noticing the subject of the lesson. He wondered where Natalia's dormitory was and whether he could find it to visit her. He wondered, too, whether such visits were permitted here.

At dinner, he did not speak to anyone, but remained wrapped in his thoughts. Once, Luna tried to ask him a question, but he hardly heard her and answered in a monosyllable. As darkness crept into the sky, Harry decided he would try to find the graveyard again and retrieve the scarf. Now that it was dark, he'd be able to see better, and he knew he needed to find it soon.

He slipped up to his dorm and pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of the depths of his trunk. Putting it on, he slipped quietly through the common room, careful to keep his cane hidden. Once out in the corridor, he breathed a sigh of relief and walked faster. He didn't notice the door quietly open and the tapestry pushed aside behind him.

Without meeting anyone, he reached the main front doors of the castle. By now, the route seemed more familiar and as he stepped out into the chilly air; he took only a minute to get his bearings before setting off down the hill, as close as he could guess to the direction in which the old graveyard lay.

The daylight had faded faster than he expected and he was soon in almost total darkness as he entered the pine wood. He slowed his pace, holding up a hand to ward off branches that seemed constantly to find him and strike him across the face. A chill wind had picked up, rocking the tops off the trees with a rustling and creaking above him. He looked up and could see the paler sky between the shivering treetops.

Harry went on and on through the trackless woods. He had begun to feel as though he'd chosen a haystack in which to look for a needle. The air grew colder and darker, and he could find no trace whatsoever of the old graveyard.

He pushed the hood of the Invisibility Cloak back, peering through the dark wood in every direction. Then he shrugged the whole thing off and stuffed it into his pocket. He couldn't risk tearing it; he'd worn it far too long in the tangle of brush as it was. He began again in another direction, cutting his way across the slope of the hill rather than continuing downward.

He came across what seemed to be a path, running down the hill, and he decided to follow it, hoping it would lead him to his destination. All at once, without warning, arms grabbed him from behind. Harry's arms were pinned to his sides and his captor wrenched his cane roughly from his hand.

Harry struggled and shouted; when he did this a hand was clamped over his mouth. A hand that was missing its first finger.

Harry's eyes widened, and he struggled harder.

"There, there," a low voice said in his ear. "So nice to find you out here. So handy. I didn't even have to come looking for you." Wormtail, for Harry knew it was he, chuckled gleefully.

Harry tried to bite the hand over his mouth, but was rewarded only with a firmer grip. He kicked at Wormtail's shin and this time, he connected.

"Ouch!" the man cried and involuntarily loosened his grip. Harry broke free and began to run, but without his cane, he tripped over a tree root, stumbling to his knees.

"Petrificus Totalus!" The curse hit Harry squarely in the back. As if in slow motion, he saw the ground rise to meet his face, and he lay, unmoving, his face buried in the spicy scent of pine needles.


	11. Chapter 11

Lying with his face buried in pine needles, the first thing Harry heard was a snap, and then another, the sound of his cane being broken into pieces. Inwardly, he flinched, as if someone had broken one of his fingers. He felt his heart pounding, a sparrow trapped in the cage of his ribs. He wondered what Wormtail would do with him.

He did not have long to wait. The next moment, Wormtail stooped over him and lifted him with a grunt, staggering a little under his weight. He made off down the forest track bearing Harry's stiff body with him. Eyes open, Harry watched the dark shadows of treetops against the softer dark of the night sky.

For some reason, his thoughts wandered back to that first night on the Astronomy tower when he realized he would never again see the stars. As he stared into the misty darkness of the sky tonight, a particle of that old grief returned to him.

A mere five minutes after Wormtail started, he stopped in an open space. With a sigh of relief, he lowered Harry onto the flat, hard coldness of a stone marker, set like a macabre table a few feet off the ground. Unable to move, Harry lay like a sacrifice on an unlit, frozen pyre.

No sound came from the glade around Harry, save for the mumblings and mutterings of Wormtail as he bustled around doing something not far away, out of range of Harry's sight. A fire flared, warm and bright, in Harry's peripheral vision. Wormtail's muttering increased.

Harry grew colder and colder as the chill from the hard stone seeped into his shoulder blades and hips and heels. His stomach clenched against the paralysis that prevented him from shivering. With growing terror, he listened to Wormtail making his preparations, for what? He did not speak to Harry, nor did he enter Harry's field of vision, fixed as it was upon the sky.

The fire blazed higher now; Harry welcomed its warmth against his side. Wormtail walked past him and out of the glade. Silence descended, and Harry could hear the eerie moaning of the wind in the treetops and the greedy fire devouring the wood.

Wormtail walked back into the glade, again past the spot where Harry lay. This time he walked carefully, carrying something that he deemed precious. Harry tried to follow his progress with his eyes but gave up after an agonized effort. Taking the bundle to the fire, Wormtail made sounds as if he added something to a cauldron.

Harry heard him mutter, "Bone of the father…" and he stirred carefully, his wand tapping the side of the cauldron rhythmically. Then he came over to Harry and stood over him.

Fear rose inside of Harry as Wormtail raised his hand, holding a long, cruel knife. The memory of the details of the knife in his dream rose up over the image of the blurred knife before him and his mind saw the edge in gleaming detail. He wanted to scream, to run, to fight.

Wormtail brought the knife down swiftly… onto his own hand, severing a finger.

"Haha, scared you, didn't I?" he asked, his putrid breath in Harry's face. Harry felt as if he were drowning; the shallow breathing that the body-bind curse allowed him was insufficient for the adrenaline that surged through his body. Wormtail held up his own severed finger in sadistic glee, and then waddled away with it to the cauldron.

All too soon, he was back, holding the knife over Harry again. A new wave of terror washed over him as Wormtail picked up Harry's limp hand, holding it and caressing it with his own bleeding, mangled one. Mentally, Harry balled his hand into a fist, but his muscles did not respond, and Wormtail turned his hand palm-upward, deliberately slashing an ugly cut through the palm. Harry could feel the slice and the trickle of warm blood that followed. His hand fell again to the stone slab and Wormtail again hurried to the cauldron.

Too late, the body-bind curse began to wear off. Harry turned his head slightly to the side, toward the fire and the large cauldron sitting over it. Wormtail stood like the shadow of a strange priest, a dark figure silhouetted against the firelight. As he watched, Harry saw a black, tall figure rise out of the cauldron, and he heard the evil, maniacal laughter from his dream. Lord Voldemort had returned.

"My Lord," sniveled Wormtail, bowing low. Voldemort ignored him, save to take the wand that the trembling servant held up toward his towering, black-robed master.

Voldemort approached Harry where he lay on the stone slab. Harry's hand twitched, but beyond that, he still could not move. He looked steadily toward the menacing figure that walked slowly toward him.

"Harry Potter. You were my undoing; now you have been my salvation. I have returned, more powerful than before, thanks to you. I have you in my power now, and I can do with you what I please. I could kill you," he said, raising his wand to point it straight at Harry. Harry tried not to flinch, still staring at the face he could not see. With the flickering firelight behind him, Voldemort appeared merely a shadow to Harry, lost in misty nothingness. His voice, however, came clearly to Harry, a crisp hiss with sharp edges that sent a shiver up his spine.

Voldemort stood for a long second with his wand raised. Harry waited for the stroke to fall, but instead, Voldemort dropped the wand with a swish of his robes. "I am not going to kill you," he said and Harry let out the breath he had been holding, slowly, like the hiss of escaping steam. "Yet," Voldemort added.

He began walking around Harry's bier. Slowly, with deliberate, measured pace, he circled Harry. At first, Harry tried to follow with his eyes but gave up and stared at the fathomless, inky sky.

"You cannot see me," began Voldemort in the tone of a lecturer, but a minute later, he broke off and clutched the edge of the stone slab, bending over, his face close to Harry's. "Would you like to?"

Harry's eyes flicked to his face, close enough now that Harry saw pupils like the eyes of a cat staring out of pale, sunken lids. No, not the eyes of a cat, Harry thought, the eyes of a snake. He looked again at the sky.

"I have looked through your eyes," said Voldemort. "I have seen the light you see, the grey nothingness that dances before you." Harry stared resolutely at the starless sky. "Now," said Voldemort with another hiss, "look through mine."

Harry's scar seemed to split apart and his mind screamed in agony. With the force of rape, Voldemort was inside Harry's mind, climbing into Harry's thoughts, shoving him, pushing him. Then Harry opened his eyes.

No longer was he looking at the blurred sky above him. He peered down on himself from above, looking through Voldemort's eyes. He could see absolutely clearly, in brilliant color, sparkling more for having been so long missing from Harry's experience. He saw himself lying on the slab, saw the color of his skin. He saw, too, the red blood of the cut on his palm, and another red. Lying just beyond the stone where he lay, a red pile of silken scarf lying on the ground.

Voldemort swept his gaze upward and Harry gasped as the sweep of stars came into view, with all of the thousands of diamond points of light he remembered. The gaze dropped to the burning embers of the fire, glowing red and orange and yellow. It took in Wormtail, huddled on the ground and the crisp, clear outlines of tombstones, each littered with writing that Harry drank in hungrily, the words flowing into his mind. He saw the texture of tree bark and the jarring discord of a dropped stick on the smooth ground. Then the gaze returned to his own face and Harry saw his own eyes, green, but with a shimmer of red he did not recognize. It mirrored the red he saw reflected in his glasses from Voldemort's serpentine gaze.

With a wrench that made Harry's mind writhe, Voldemort pulled free of his thoughts, leaving him feeling naked and panting, exhausted from the kaleidoscope of colors he'd just witnessed. As he opened his own eyes to the monochrome haze he always saw, he felt a longing to return to the world of crisp color he'd just seen.

"It can be yours, you know," said Voldemort softly, straightening and resuming his pacing around the stone. "I have great power. I have come again into my own, and I reward my faithful followers richly."

Harry felt the longing within him intensify. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but he could not.

"Or perhaps it's not enough?" said Voldemort, almost sweetly. "Perhaps your parents might be persuaded to join you?" His voice held the words in a caress, handing them to Harry like a promise.

Harry looked at the hooded figure, wide-eyed. Could this man bring back the dead? A picture rose in Harry's mind, the memory of the Mirror of Erised, the memory of himself, standing next to his parents, their hands on his shoulders, love in their eyes. They could be a family, a real family, like other kids had. He could have a mother. His hand twitched again.

"Yes, I can do all that for you," intoned Voldemort, reaching once again the spot next to Harry's side where he had first begun speaking. "I can, and I will. All you have to do is swear allegiance to me and take my Mark on your arm. You will become my most powerful ally. I will train you myself, and together we will rule the whole world."

Harry closed his eyes. Dancing in his memory were the silver stars, beautiful and crisp and sparkling. They could be his again. He could share them with his mum and dad, tell them how much more they meant now that they were no longer lost to him.

But the price. The price was taking the Dark Mark. Joining Voldemort. Something he had never in all of his wildest dreams imagined he would do.

Voldemort straightened, and steepled his fingers with the air of an elderly professor who had just given some excellent advice. "Of course it's quite a big decision, and I have plans to make before I could help you with this, err, little issue. I will let you think it over. All that I ask is that you keep my, err, presence… between us for the time being. I'm sure you understand." And with the sudden swiftness of a snake striking, his wand was pointed at Harry again. "Crucio!" he said coldly and Harry writhed, a scream tearing from his lips. With a flick of his wand, Voldemort broke the curse and turned away, leaving Harry gasping for breath.

Voldemort strode to the center of the clearing and raised both arms dramatically. With a flourish, he commanded Wormtail, who pressed the Dark Mark in the center of his forearm. Seconds later, hooded forms began to appear in the clearing, walking in from the woods, appearing from nowhere in front of tilting tombstones.

Harry could not see anything more than black robes, all alike, gathering in a circle around Voldemort. His body ached from the cold and the pain he'd just endured. He watched the summoned Death Eaters encircle their master and he began speaking to them in low tones, so low Harry could not catch the words.

For a long time he spoke to them; once in a while one or another would answer him. Harry shifted his shoulders on the slab, and wiggled his toes. The body-bind curse had begun to fade in earnest now. He fumbled for his wand, which lay uncomfortably underneath him, but he found himself still unable to grasp it.

The enclave of Death Eaters was fragmenting now; one after another they swept past Harry, giving him no notice, and disappeared into the thick, dark wood. Soon, the glade held only the same three figures it had sheltered half an hour before. At last, Harry grasped his wand. Pulling himself into a half-sitting position, he drew it out from behind him. He looked up.

The silent glade was empty.


	12. Chapter 12

"Harry! We finally found you! Are you all right?" The voices belonged to two girls, Jamie and Luna, as they came rushing out of the silent woods. Harry sat on the slab of stone, his feet dangling over the edge, wiggling his toes, trying to regain movement enough to trust himself to stand.

"How did you know to look for me?" asked Harry in amazement.

"Well, of course, I saw you leaving the Common Room," began Luna, and Harry frowned.

"You… saw me?" he asked, bewildered.

"I didn't see you, exactly. I saw the Wrackspurts," she hastened to explain.

"The wrack-what?" asked Harry, now totally lost.

Jamie tried to help. "She was wearing her Spectrespecs, showing me how they worked," she said in a rush.

"You had an awful lot of Wrackspurts following you, Harry," said Luna in a tone that implied that he ought to do something about the fact.

"We wondered where you were going," continued Jamie. "So we followed you."

"What's a Wrackspurt?" asked Harry, wondering if he was actually lost inside some sort of insane nightmare, and none of the events of the previous few hours had happened at all.

Luna ignored his question and continued her story. "We lost you in the wood. It got so dark, we started to turn back, but Jamie didn't want to. She was worried about you."

Harry gave Jamie a tight-lipped smile.

"You seemed so… odd earlier," said Jamie awkwardly.

"Did you just get here?" asked Harry anxiously. "Did you see anything?" He thought with a shiver of the Death Eaters moving like wisps of smoke through the trees.

"We got lost," said Jamie.

"Why did you come out here, Harry?" asked Luna.

"I… err…" Harry faltered. Why had he come? He cast his eyes about him. A foot from his left toe, the silk scarf lay like something dead, heaped on the ground. The color of blood burned into his brain, the color of the scarf, the color of Voldemort's eyes when he'd seen them reflected in his own glasses. He shuddered. "I came for this," he said, standing gingerly, and prodding the scarf with his toe.

"Harry!" said Jamie, rushing toward him. "Your hand! It's all covered with blood."

Harry froze. It hadn't been a dream. He stood, poised on that instant, a knife-edge of indecision. He knew that the choice he made next would affect the rest of his life, and for a fraction of a second, he wavered. Should he tell them? Sound the alarm and get help? Should he wait? Hide in the shadows and brood on the choice he had been given, take the first step along the dark path that had opened in front of his feet?

"I scratched my hand on a branch," he said, stooping so his face was hidden. He picked up the silk scarf from where it lay on the ground and wrapped it around his bleeding right hand. The cut stung and still seeped. With his teeth he secured a knot to hold the silk tightly around the wound.

As he straightened again, he found that his stiff body ached and he inadvertently groaned slightly. The hours of laying frozen on the cold stone, and the effects of the body-bind curse, not to mention the cruciatus curse, had left him bruised and hurting.

"Are you all right?" asked Jamie anxiously.

"Fine," spat Harry, too sharply.

"Where's your cane?" asked Luna practically, and inwardly, Harry cursed the observant nature of girls. Couldn't they just leave him alone?

"It got broken," he said, letting the frustration he felt over this fact ring in his voice.

No one said anything for a long moment.

"Let's go back," said Harry. He was worried that the girls would ask him what he'd been doing for so long in the clearing, that they might find the remains of the fire, or that they would ask awkward questions about how his cane had been broken. He did not feel creative enough at the moment to make up a believable story.

Luna began leading the way back through the trees, along the path that meandered up the hill toward the castle. Jamie followed, obviously still worried about Harry, who brought up the rear. He found the going difficult. He'd grown so accustomed to using his cane that he felt ill at ease without it, fearing that he would trip on protruding root. He was also bone-weary, tired in a way he'd never been before, as if a weight had been placed upon him, a heavy secret that he carried, a burden that fretted and worried him, and formed a hard knot in the pit of his stomach.

He trudged after Jamie, watching her moving heels, concentrating on simply placing one foot in front of the other. Time stretched on interminably and he began to think that they would never reach the castle at all. The girls had become lost coming out here; wouldn't they also likely get lost going back? He became too tired to care and plodded on and on. Neither of the girls spoke.

At last, they made it back to the castle. To Harry's surprise, Luna spoke the password confidently, and the door obediently appeared. They reached the door to the common room; Jamie entered, but Luna pulled Harry aside.

"Harry, what really happened out there?" she asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry with a frown.

"Your cane's broken, you're cut and bruised and shaken. You were out there for hours. Plus, you've hardly said a word all the way back." Her voice wasn't accusatory, merely concerned.

Harry stood silently, his eyes on the floor. He could not decide what to say; at last she saved him the trouble.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she said. "But I'm here if you need to talk."

Harry glanced up at her face. "Thanks," he said sincerely.

They followed Jamie into the common room.

That night, Harry had barely dropped off to sleep when the nightmare caught him again. This time, he could see colors, and he stood looking into the Mirror of Erised, watching himself stand with his parents on either side. As he watched, they stepped out of the Mirror, which rippled like the surface of a pool, and stood beside him. He looked up into his mother's face, searching her green eyes with his own, aware of what she was thinking without any words. He reveled in the feeling, in view of the fact that he had not experienced it since the blinding attack over a year ago.

He shifted his gaze to his father's face, answering the smile he saw there. Together, the family walked out of the room and down the Hogwarts' hallway. As they walked, a snowy owl flew into the hallway toward them. It fluttered at Harry, battering his face with its wings. He tried to push it off, tried to scold it. It pecked at his eyes, and he covered his face with his arms. It screeched; he could no longer see his parents. The floor began to tilt. He was sliding, his arms still over his face.

Jerking to wakefulness in the darkness of his dorm room, Harry found that his arms covered his face, clutching his blankets. He lay, heart throbbing a staccato rhythm in his chest. Deep inside, he examined the picture of his parents that he'd held in his mind. He saw their faces, pleased and proud; he could feel the love radiating out of their eyes toward him.

[break]

A few days later, Harry found himself in the Divination classroom talking to Professor O'Carolan.

"Have you had time to think about what I told you?" the old man queried.

"About?" asked Harry, jerking out of his reverie.

"About getting lost. When you fear being out in the unknown, you limit yourself," explained O'Carolan.

"Well, I pretty much feel lost all the time," said Harry, wondering briefly if he was speaking metaphorically or realistically, or perhaps both.

"How do you mean?" asked O'Carolan shrewdly.

"Well…" Harry began, but he ended the sentence lightly. "I just don't know Durmstrang very well yet."

"I do not think that is what you were going to say," probed O'Carolan.

Harry fell silent for a moment, wondering if he dared ask what was really on his mind. The old man really was too perceptive and Harry wasn't ready to air his terrible secret. Still, he needed to know.

"Do you ever wish you could see?" Harry blurted at last.

"Ahh," said O'Carolan, sitting back in his chair. "Now we get to it. You have been blind for, what, a little over a year?"

"Yes," said Harry miserably.

"It's an adjustment," said O'Carolan.

"I didn't think it would be like this," said Harry. "In some ways, I feel exactly the same as I did. But there are other times when…" He let his words trail off, unable to find voice to what he thought. For a long minute, silence stretched between them.

"Do I wish I could see…" repeated O'Carolan softly to himself. "That's something of a loaded question, you know."

"Why?" asked Harry curiously.

"I think it is not the seeing I wish for, but other things," began O'Carolan. Harry did not understand, but waited for the old man to explain. "I wish to be respected, to be understood. I wish to not be treated as an invalid or to be underestimated. It would be nice to walk into the room without being the center of attention."

"Mmmm," Harry said in agreement.

"Those things are not seeing, however," continued O'Carolan.

"What about beauty?" asked Harry. "A sunset? The stars?"

"Oh, of course, there are those things," said O'Carolan thoughtfully. "I think I know what it is to understand a sunset when I listen to Beethoven's symphonies. It is the same, is it not?"

"I don't know," said Harry. A year ago, he would have said no, but now he wasn't sure.

"There is a lot of ugliness in the world that I do not see," said O'Carolan, after a pause. "I do not make judgments based on a person's looks."

"That's true," agreed Harry, who hadn't thought of it before, but realized he felt the same way.

"As I am, without sight, I go where I want to go, I work at a job I love…" said O'Carolan. "Do I need sight to do more?"

"Everything is so much harder!" Harry flung his words across the room. "People judge me, think I'm less, feel sorry for me."

O'Carolan did not answer right away, but let the words hang in the air. Then he spoke. "Are you less?"

Harry considered this. "Sometimes it feels that way," he said at last.

"Why?" asked O'Carolan.

"I'm not… I can't…" Harry floundered. In his mind, he saw an old blind man crossing the street in a childhood memory. He heard his aunt's pitying voice, saw his uncle look away.

"But are you really less?" O'Carolan asked again.

"I-I-I'm not sure," said Harry miserably, unwilling to give the answer O'Carolan wanted to hear.

"It is not sight that makes one man better than another," said O'Carolan after another pause.

"What is it then?" asked Harry curiously.

"It is character. Integrity. Confidence," said O'Carolan solemnly.

"Doing the right thing?" asked Harry. "If that's the most important thing, why is it always so much harder? Why do the good guys always get screwed?"

"Do they?" asked O'Carolan.

Harry thought of his parents, their lives cut short. He thought of Lupin, living with hatred and discrimination. He thought of Sirius and the unnecessary years he'd spent in Azkaban. Most of all, he thought of himself, having no family, losing his sight, fighting a losing battle, constantly stalked by the world's most dangerous wizard.

"Yes!" he burst out. "They always get the shaft. And how would you know what it's like to lose your vision. You've always been blind. It's different for you."

"You're right. Each one of us is different and must do the best with what he has," said O'Carolan softly.

Anger flared inside Harry, but he bit his lip. The terrible knowledge of the secret he carried clawed at his insides. He could gain back his vision, he could have his family again, his real family. Yet the terrible price that sat on the other side of the scales wavered before him.

O'Carolan had said that integrity was the most important thing, even more important than sight. Well, Harry didn't believe him. Sure, the old man could say that. He'd never had his sight. He'd been broken forever. Harry thought of Natalia, of looking into her eyes, of tracing the curves of her face with his eyes, of watching her dance.

"You don't understand," he muttered. O'Carolan did not confirm or deny this statement. "You just don't understand," repeated Harry and left the room.

Behind him, an old, bent man sat at his desk, his chin in his hand, a worried frown creasing his face.


	13. Chapter 13

On a Saturday morning a week and a half later, Adrian Pucey cornered Harry in the common room where he was writing a letter to Ron and Hermione. He'd just received a box of brailled textbooks, a watch and a new cane, the result of much owl-mail between him and the Shop of Requirement. Changing schools necessitated changing his list of books, so he was delighted to finally receive the right ones. Now he was writing out the whole story to Ron and Hermione with his DictaQuill.

"Hey, Harry," said Adrian, enthusiastically interrupting Harry's muttering, "want to come out and play Quidditch?"

"Sure!" agreed Harry, pushing aside the letter. "Who's playing?"

"Clive and I challenged a bunch of Durmstrangers to play," said Adrian, a grin in his voice. "That Carrow boy, for one, and some others."

"Brilliant," said Harry. "Let me get my stuff." A quick trip to his room produced his broom, gloves, goggles and the beeping snitch.

He followed Adrian out of the castle and down a steep trail, moving in the opposite direction from the graveyard. As they neared the edge of the hill, a panoramic vista opened up and spread out below them. It was the North Sea, far below a tall cliff, glittering in the morning sun.

Harry stood still, and shaded his eyes to peer down at the Durmstrang Quidditch pitch, which clung dramatically, like a mountain goat, on the side of the cliff. From what he could tell, the stands had been chiseled into the rocks of the sheer side of the stone precipice, with the flat grass-covered pitch just below. Beyond that, on the seaward side, the stadium stood open to the wind and the stomach-turning drop down the cliffs to the open water far below.

"Wow, would you look at that," Harry said, about the breathtaking view.

"You haven't been out here before," said Adrian with a grin.

"No," agreed Harry. For a moment, he closed his eyes against the sunlight, and then gasped in amazement as he noticed the sound of the open space. He'd never been that high before. Standing where he was, he could not even hear the sound of the breakers far below, but he could smell the salty brine on the air and could feel an indescribable open feeling, as though he stood alone on top of the world.

"Come on, then," called Adrian over his shoulder, and Harry drew in a deep breath, opened his eyes again, and resumed his descent, feeling his way carefully with his cane, lest a misstep send him careening over the edge. Stumbling around without a cane for the past two weeks had made him appreciate its usefulness even more. He reached the pitch at last, and found a group of people gathered at one end, discussing teams.

"I'll play keeper," Harry heard someone saying. He thought it might be Clive Tanner, but he wasn't sure. "Pucey, you and Abbot play chaser. Oh, Potter, here you are. Harry Potter's one of the best seekers we've ever had," he explained.

"A blind seeker?" said one of the Durmstrang students skeptically. "How do you find the snitch?"

Harry held up his beeping snitch and woke it with his wand. It struggled to free itself from his fingers, beeping shrilly, and fluttering its gossamer wings.

"That's not a regulation snitch," protested another of the Durmstrang students.

"It's not against the rules to use adaptive equipment if you have a blind player on your team. We looked it up," said Pucey smoothly, to Harry's surprise.

Harry thought wryly that the Slytherins probably had indeed checked out that rule last year in an attempt to prevent him competing. Now, however, it came in handy that they had bothered.

"I don't want to play with a weird snitch," said the first Durmstrang boy.

"If you won't let Potter play, Carrow," said Adrian through clenched teeth, "You won't play any of us."

Harry grinned. He'd seen the Slytherin solidarity displayed before, of course, but never had it included a Gryffindor. In unconscious support of Adrian's words, the Hogwarts students drew closer together, standing shoulder-to-shoulder as they faced the disapproving Durmstrang crowd.

The tallest Durmstrang boy stepped forward, one who had not spoken yet.

"I say let him play," he said, with authority of a natural leader. "What could it hurt?"

A few other hesitant voices chimed in. The other students, evidently afraid of Carrow, still wanted to play, and most really didn't seem to care about the beeping snitch at all. Carrow didn't respond, but mounted his broom and kicked off in a huff.

"Right, then," said Tanner, turning back to the Hogwarts students. "Lewis and Bright, beaters?"

Luna and Jamie had followed the other Hogwarts students to the pitch, but neither expressed an inclination to play. Luna said she'd rather watch, so Tanner made her officially a backup chaser, to complete the seven positions. Jamie sidled up to Harry, whispering that she didn't even know how to fly. Harry gave her a reassuring nudge and promised that he'd teach her later.

He soon forgot this conversation as the players got themselves sorted, and the game began. Harry hadn't realized how much he relied on having an announcer to keep up with the action in the game. In this impromptu free-for-all, he had no idea what was going on below him; he decided to simply do his part, and focus on finding the snitch before the Durmstrang seeker, a girl named Irene, found it.

He hadn't reckoned on Carrow. Although beaters usually focused their energies on distracting the chasers and keepers, Carrow began venting his spite on Harry instead. Harry had tried to stay out of the way of the other players by flying above the level of the hoops, so he was shocked the first time a bludger came out of nowhere and plowed into his right hand, which clasped his broom.

"Ouch!" he cried as the cut on his palm reopened, and he could feel blood seeping into the bandage that had replaced O'Carolan's silk scarf around his hand. For some reason the ugly wound had not healed as it should, but would periodically ooze blood. He had avoided showing it to any of the healers, however, as he did not want awkward questions. He clenched his hand with a frown and flew on.

He hadn't circled the pitch yet when another one pummeled him from behind, and Harry vaguely saw the form of a Durmstrang beater flying behind him hitting it toward him.

"Carrow!" the Durmstrang captain called from below. "Get back down here where you're supposed to be!"

Harry's shadow reluctantly left, and Harry resumed concentrating on listening for the beep. It wasn't long, however, before he felt a crushing sting in his left elbow. He saw the bludger hovering for another attack, let go of his broom for a moment to ward off the blow, and felt himself slipping sideways toward the yawning gulf of empty air that bounded the north side of the pitch.

Heart pounding, he grabbed for his broom again as the bludger slammed into his left shoulder. Harry ground his teeth and dove to get away from its insidious attack. By this time, Sarah Bright had seen his predicament and headed for the bludger herself, calling, "You okay, Harry?" as she flew. He nodded and flashed a grateful smile toward her.

Despite the help his goggles gave, Harry found he couldn't distinguish the other players, and he worried that he'd get in the way of the chasers. This was not his finely-tuned Hogwarts team, accustomed to cuing him to their locations verbally. This was a rag-tag group of every age, some unused to playing Quidditch at all, who had never played with a blind teammate. He made a quick circuit of the pitch, flying low to listen for the beep, and then headed up above the game once more. He was beginning to feel concerned that he had not had the least indication of the snitch's presence. He also didn't know the score.

As he flew aimlessly above the shouts and noise of the game below him, he found his mind beginning to wander. He wondered what the game would look like if he could see it. Unbidden, his mind drifted into a rosy fantasy in which he could see the details of the game below him with dazzling colour and clarity, then the dream-world broadened to include his mum and dad, sitting in the stands below him, cheering him like mad as he held the dazzling snitch aloft, victoriously triumphant.

His daydream shifted yet again, and this time he played for Britain's World Cup team, wearing the red and blue, and able to see the bright colors. He was the world's best seeker, better even than Krum. The crowds filling the stands went wild for him as he captured the World Cup title and their hearts in one brilliant maneuver. He'd make his victory lap smiling broadly, and later sign autographs for all of his adoring fans.

He imagined himself looking into the eyes of his proud father as he held aloft the glittering cup. Something marred the vivid daydream, something insidious and frightening. Harry couldn't shake the knowledge that something was wrong. Then he heard a beep, faint and far off. He knew he ought to care about the beeping noise, but he did not want to lose the sight of his father's loving look, the sweet taste of victory.

The beeping grew louder in Harry's mind and the dream images began to slip. He blinked and shook his head to clear it. The snitch! Harry had been so wrapped up in his dream-world Quidditch game, he'd entirely forgotten the real one. Now, he realized he could hear the snitch beeping, but he had no idea where it was. He blinked again and listened harder, sweeping his head from side to side like a serpent, testing the air.

It was below him. He threw himself into a dive, hoping against hope that Irene had not spotted it first. As he hurtled toward the ground, a crash sent him spinning. Someone had hit him broadside, and he struggled to right himself.

"Watch it, Dummkopf," yelled the Durmstrang player who'd hit him.

Harry finally pulled himself back onto his broom, but realized simultaneously that he could no longer hear the snitch and that he had hurtled out beyond the bounds of the pitch into pure, open space. His stomach lurched into his throat as he thought of the empty feet of air below him, dropping to the salty surf far below. He turned and flew back toward the game, listening hard for any indication that Irene had captured the elusive snitch.

He heard the shouts of the chasers calling to one another. The beaters' bats thudded on bludgers, and someone cried angrily as a bludger whizzed past her. Harry watched for a moment in fascination as the blurred forms flew randomly across his view. Then he took a deep breath and re-entered the game.

Not wanting to be too far above the pitch in case the beep came from below, Harry flew just above the other players. Once again, he found himself the target of the bludgers that someone, presumably Carrow, sent his direction. Because he couldn't see them coming, he merely gritted his teeth to take the abuse whenever they came his way. One clipped him on the side of his head, making his ears ring, and one caught him full in the face, his goggles taking the impact.

"Keep those things away from him!" Adrian Pucey called to the Hogwarts beaters, and soon things became quieter for Harry. Flying past Harry once, Adrian called, "Score's 80-30 Hogwarts, mate!" and Harry shouted his thanks in return for the information. He was proud of his misfit team, no doubt competing against some of Durmstrang's best players.

"Ha! Take that!" said Adrian from the far side of the pitch, where he'd apparently just scored another ten points for Hogwarts. At the same time, Harry heard the beep that he'd been straining for so long to hear. For a moment, he closed his eyes, concentrating. It came from a place near him, on his level and not far away. Opening his eyes, he flew nonchalantly toward the sound, trying not to attract attention, and ignoring a bludger that whizzed past his right ear.

It was very near. He still couldn't spot it and he was beginning to feel a bit panicky. Irene was sure to notice at any moment. He could hear its insistent beep right beside him, yet still could not see it. The sun flashed in his face, and he closed his eyes again, listening. He heard the whir of tiny wings. He could almost feel their draught on his cheek. He also heard the whoosh of someone closing in behind him. Irene!

In the last instant before she caught up to him, he whipped his right glove off by tucking it under his left arm, and reached out his bandaged right hand toward the sound and feeling of the whirring wings. As if he delicately plucked a moth out of the air, Harry's aching hand closed gently, unerringly around the golden snitch.

Just as his hand caught the snitch, he felt Irene brush past him and he opened his eyes to see her, hand outstretched. For a moment, he felt frozen, stunned that he'd caught it at all, and then he heard the whoop of the other Hogwarts players who had seen him make the catch.

"Whoooo!" cried Adrian. "Hogwarts wins the match!"

Harry grinned broadly. He'd done it! Against all odds, against the glaring sun, rogue bludgers, and a competent, sighted player, he'd done it! He held the snitch aloft, cheering with his team at the top of his lungs. He punched the air, clutching the snitch, its tiny wings a heartbeat in his hand.


	14. Chapter 14

The day of the quidditch game happened to be the last really warm fall day. A chill wind descended the next day, and soon after that, snow began to fall. The Durmstrang teachers and students all commented that it was the earliest snowfall they could remember.

Harry sat in the common room, his chin in his hands, daydreaming while he stared out the window at the blank whiteness. His swirling snowstorm of thoughts was interrupted by a sharp tap on the glass. Harry got up quickly to open the window, this time finding the catch easily. As he pulled it open, a rush of snow accompanied his owl, who shook her feathers in dismay at the cold weather.

"Hedwig!" said Harry delightedly. "I've really missed you since you've stayed with Ron and Hermione." He brought her into the room and pushed the window closed against the blowing snow.

Hedwig had not one, but two Braille letters in her pouch. Harry prized them out then gave Hedwig a pat. She hooted and nipped his ear with her beak.

The first was from Ron.

dear harry

the triwizard tournament s exciting with drangons and such but i think hermiones sweet on viktorkrum and im not sure how i feel about that but we both miss you loads fred and george wanted to send you dungboms but hermione wouldn't let them

your friend

ronald weasley

ps forgot how to write punctuation and not going to dig out hermione to ask her she d be too pleased

Harry grinned in spite of himself. The next letter, from Lupin, was quite a bit longer and was written with proper punctuation as well as short-forms.

Dear Harry,

Sirius and I were pleased to get your letter and to hear that everything at Durmstrang is going well. Your godfather seems to finally be recovering his strength enough to travel. We have tracked PP to an area very near Durmstrang, so we're planning a trip up there to see you and to research the most recent known whereabouts of that Rat. You might do some sniffing about yourself up there, but be very careful not to run into him. As you know, he is very dangerous.

Yours,

Remus Lupin

Harry frowned thoughtfully. Sirius and Remus were planning to visit soon. They were looking for Wormtail. They would ask Harry all sorts of awkward questions. Once again, his secret raked at his insides, growing razor-sharp talons of worry. The fib he'd told to Luna had begun to balloon into bigger and bigger lies to hide what he knew.

He told himself that he simply needed time. Time to think. Time to decide what to do. He would tell them soon, but not yet. He needed more time.

While this reasoning pushed the knot of worry down for the time being, he found himself unable to sleep that night; he tossed and turned, worrying about the visit the following day.

The next day, Sirius and Remus arrived via floo powder to Durmstrang. Harry met them in the entrance hall and took them to the Hogwarts common room.

Once they had gotten settled, Sirius asked Harry how he was doing. Harry had been dreading this question all night; now that he was on the spot, he discovered he still had not decided what to say. He looked at his godfather for a long moment. "I am doing well," he said.

Sirius gave him a sharp look. "Are you?" he asked.

Harry hesitated.

"Err, well, yeah," he said finally.

"Good, Harry," said Remus, almost soothingly.

"We came up here, partly to see you, but partly because we heard a rumor that Wormtail has been seen once near here," said Sirius.

Harry sat silently.

"Have you heard anything?" asked Remus. "Seen anything?"

Harry reflected that he really hadn't seen anything; therein lay the problem. He briefly imagined what his godfather would do if he blurted out what he knew. They would jump to their feet, asking questions all at the same time. Instead, he merely shook his head, eyes downcast.

"We're really getting worried, Harry. I don't mind telling you. The Death Eaters that we're watching have really increased their activity. We're worried that You-Know-Who is planning to return soon. Somehow, he is planning something," said Sirius.

"How powerful was he, really," Harry blurted out.

"What do you mean?" asked Remus.

"Err, I mean, what could he really do?" asked Harry. "Could he, say, bring someone back to life?"

"Bring someone back?" asked Sirius in confusion. "I don't think he ever tried. He only killed, maimed, tortured."

"He has no love for life, Harry," said Remus softly. "Only for power, for control."

"He was powerful, wasn't he?" persisted Harry.

"In the Dark Arts, yes," admitted Sirius. "Skilled in spells for manipulation, coercion, for punishment."

"What about his followers?" asked Harry carefully. He did not want to arouse suspicion, but he needed to know.

"Death Eaters," said Remus. "He rewarded his loyal followers, but even at the same time, he suspected them of treason."

"How did he reward them?" asked Harry, leaning forward slightly.

"I-I-I'm not sure, Harry," said Remus with a frown in his voice. "I do know he does not willingly share power or fame. His followers loved evil as much as he did. They loved preying on the weak."

"Harry, they had to do terrible things. He asked them to do horrible, terrible things. Most of them were mad, even before Azkaban," said Sirius with a shudder.

Harry sat back in his chair. He had not thought much about this. If he agreed to Voldemort's plan, if he met his parents, if he regained his sight, what might he be required to do in return? The lie that lay in the pit of his stomach and ate at his insides like acid would have to grow. He might be asked to kill. Could he do that? Even for the chance to see his parents again?

He frowned as the memory of his parents flashed into his mind, the feeling of his father's hand lying heavy on his shoulder.

"Harry, what is it?" asked Sirius with concern.

Close to tears, Harry shook his head without speaking. He jumped when Remus reached out and put his hand, heavy and warm on Harry's shoulder.

"Something is wrong, Harry," Remus said. It was not a question. "What is it? You can tell us."

Harry shook his head again. He could not clear his head of the images, the voices. Every day they grew stronger, clearer. Sometimes they interrupted his classes now and always they punctuated his dreams. He felt that he could not think clearly.

"It's all right," said Remus after a long pause. "You can tell us when you're ready."

Harry wished they would probe. He felt powerless against the growing power of the lie he had told; now he wanted to be free of its shackles, but found that his tongue would not speak the words. He wanted them to reach inside of him, to draw the secret out of him like a poison.

Instead, the conversation moved on to quidditch. Harry told them about the Hogwarts victory in the recent impromptu match. They laughed and congratulated Harry on his playing.

"How are your classes?" asked Remus, ever the teacher.

"My Divination teacher's blind," began Harry.

To his surprise, Remus said, "Yes, I have met Professor O'Carolan."

"You have?" asked Harry.

"Of course," said Remus mildly. "You seem to forget the Wizarding world is small, Harry. The blind Wizarding world is even smaller."

"Of course," echoed Harry with a smile.

"How do you like him?" asked Remus curiously.

"He's harder on me than you are," said Harry ruefully, and Remus laughed.

Sirius asked about his other classes. When he heard about the Carrows, he sighed. "Keep an eye on those two, Harry," he advised.

"On their nephew, too," muttered Harry under his breath.

Their conversation was interrupted by the evening meal, and then Sirius and Remus headed off with Professor Snape to the Potions Tower. Harry supposed Remus needed a new supply of Wolfsbane potion. Wryly, he thanked his stars that he was not the one required to brew it, after the near-disaster of last year.

He settled himself in front of the fire with his homework, wishing very much that Ron and Hermione were there with him, studying and talking.

"Hello, Harry," said Jamie, tentatively, as she sat down next to him, dropping her heavy schoolbag on the floor.

"Hi, Jamie," said Harry, grateful for the company. "Have you ever played Exploding Snap before?"

"I, err, I've played regular Snap," said Jamie.

Harry grinned. He remembered his introduction into the Wizarding world and his own first game of Exploding Snap. He pulled out his cards and briefly explained the ruled for the Braille version.

At first, Jamie played hesitantly, but soon she got into the spirit of the game, calling out names and pushing Harry's hand aside to hit the cards with her wand. Harry laughed at her and played harder. In the end, he won, only because Jamie got distracted by one of the wizards on the cards moving to get a better view. She was so surprised, she dropped the card, and Harry scored a snap.

"That's fun," she said when they'd finished and both sprawled on the chairs, red-faced.

"Yeah," said Harry wistfully.

"You miss your friends?" asked Jamie.

"Yeah," said Harry, surprised at the force of this realization.

"Me, too," said Jamie.

"Your Muggle friends?" asked Harry, sitting up.

"Well, yeah," said Jamie. "Don't you miss the friends you had before you came to Hogwarts?"

"I didn't have any friends before I came to Hogwarts," confessed Harry.

"I didn't have many," said Jamie. "Just one."

"She could not come too?" asked Harry.

"He didn't get a letter," said Jamie sadly.

"Oh, sorry," said Harry.

"I miss my mum and dad," continued Jamie.

"I do, too," said Harry sincerely. "I mean…"

"What is it?" asked Jamie.

"I mean, my mum and dad are dead, you know," said Harry awkwardly.

"No, I didn't know," said Jamie softly.

"I forget that," said Harry. "Most people already know."

"How did they die?" asked Jamie.

"They were killed by an evil… by a dark wizard," faltered Harry.

"Why?" asked Jamie.

Harry paused. He'd always accepted the story that Voldemort had killed his parents just because that is what Voldemort did. That's what bad guys did, right?

"My parents were in the group that opposed him," began Harry, but stopped. Was that their crime? Or were they merely in the wrong place at the wrong time?

"I-I-I'm sorry," said Jamie. Then suddenly, as if making a confession, Jamie blurted, "I miss one other person, you know."

"Do you," murmured Harry, not really paying attention.

"I was a twin," said Jamie, simply.

Harry's attention snapped back like a broken violin string. "You were?"

"We were identical," she said in a low voice. "Two halves of one whole. Mirror images."

"Where is she now?" asked Harry.

"She died," said Jamie simply. "I miss her so much sometimes I can hardly breathe."

"How did she die?" asked Harry, echoing Jamie's question.

"There was an accident. We were bathing at the sea. She got too far out and was swept out to sea." Jamie's voice cracked. "She was swept out and I stayed close to the shore. I should have gone with her."

"No, no you shouldn't have," said Harry with a frown.

"Don't you ever wish the dark wizard would have killed you too, along with your parents?" asked Jamie bitterly.

"Well, he tried," said Harry wryly.

"He did?" asked Jamie in surprise.

Harry lifted his hair to reveal the lightning scar. "For some reason, the killing curse rebounded back onto him instead of killing me."

"Wow," said Jamie, drawing out the word in long, slow admiration. Harry let the hair fall back. "Is that how you lost your eyesight?"

Harry didn't know whether to be annoyed at her unashamed questioning or to appreciate her candidness. "No, that happened only a year ago. Another killing curse."

"You're pretty lucky," observed Jamie.

Harry twisted to face her. "Lucky?"

"I don't know," said Jamie sadly. "People tell me I'm the lucky one, too. Maybe they tell all survivors that. I don't feel lucky."

"Neither do I," said Harry.


	15. Chapter 15

November held Durmstrang and all the northern country in its icy grip as Harry made his way to O'Carolan's office for a lesson one dreary Thursday afternoon. Professor O'Carolan had been pushing Harry to improve his Braille reading speed. Harry tried hard—and it helped that he had been forced to study from his own notes that he took in class—but he still couldn't break past the barrier of 60 words per minute where he had been stuck for months. He simply couldn't get his fingers to register information as quickly as his eyes had, and it frustrated him. Thinking with trepidation of Professor O'Carolan sitting with his stopwatch, Harry pushed open the heavy, wooden door.

The office felt like a tomb. Cold, clammy air assaulted Harry's face. No firelight warmed the room, and the air felt stale, as though the door had been closed for days. Harry frowned.

"Professor?" he called, his voice echoing off the stone walls to slap him again in the face with its eerie sound-shadow. He waited, listening. The room looked dim and unlit, but this, at least, was somewhat normal. O'Carolan generally remembered to light the torches in his office without being reminded, but there had been a time or two when he forgot, so busy was he with his work. Harry's misty vision filled with the bumps and piles of O'Carolan's stacks of oddments, from crystal balls to thinking caps, all sitting in helter-skelter heaps on shelves and countertops. Then, Harry noticed a light in one corner, blinking slowly on and off, on and off.

Harry moved toward the blinking light, past decks of fortune-telling cards and strange, silver instruments that reminded Harry of the items in Dumbledore's office. The blinking drew him onward, deeper into the office.

At last, he stood in front of it, a small object emitting a slow blink, like the halfhearted light given off by old Christmas lights. He reached out a hesitant hand toward the object. His fingers closed on hard edges and angles and corners, like the diamond he'd once seen in an advert for a jewelry shop. He picked it up, palm-sized, and suddenly he knew what he held. A sneakoscope.

Harry put down the blinking crystal as if it was a hot potato and turned hastily to leave the office.

"Looking for the old man?" The unexpected voice in the doorway made Harry's heart jump into his throat. He wasn't sure, but he thought the dim form he saw standing there belonged to Alexei Carrow.

"Yeah, I-I-I…" Harry stopped, forcing his voice into a nonchalant tone. "Have you seen him?"

"Vielleicht habe ich, vielleicht auch nicht," replied the unmistakeable voice of Alexei.

Harry blinked at the German. He wasn't wearing the earpiece, and he had only a vague idea that the other boy had said something like, "maybe." Harry took a step or two nearer the door. The larger boy in the doorway did not move. He stood like a wall, blocking Harry's exit. The hair on Harry's arms began to prickle. His fingers tightened around his cane until his knuckles turned white with the tension.

"Where's your dimwitted bodyguard when you need him?" taunted Alexei.

Harry did not answer. His mind raced. Had the Carrow boy been watching for him, waiting for him to come to O'Carolan's office for his weekly lesson? Had he known that O'Carolan would be missing?

Alexei took a threatening step nearer Harry.

For a split second, Harry could not decide if the other boy planned to attack. Having been pinned by the bigger boy before, Harry knew that to wait might doom him to failure, but he could not read Alexei's face to know if the other boy would come at him.

The fist connecting with the side of Harry's cheek answered his question. For a moment, blackness swam before Harry's eyes, and then a red mist of anger filled his vision. He was not going to wait to be beaten by Alexei Carrow a second time.

Like lightning, Harry jumped toward Alexei, thrusting the black rubber handle of his cane in Alexei's face, then with the backswing using the other end of the slender rod to swipe at the back of Alexei's knees. While the stroke did not quite cause the larger boy to fall, for a second, it threw him off balance. Harry used that second to pull his cane apart into two pieces, held together by the internal double elastic cord, which he placed swiftly at Alexei's throat.

Surprised, Alexei fell to his knees, his fingers tugging at the garrote.

"You know where O'Carolan is, then?" growled Harry, through clenched teeth. Alexei said nothing, struggling against the cord at his throat. He twisted his body backward, ducking out from under Harry's grip. Harry stumbled forward against the side of the doorway as the other boy freed himself and ran, his footsteps disappearing down the echoing hallway.

Harry leaned for a moment against the door frame, breathing hard. Something was not right here. The empty office, the sneakoscope, and Alexei's attack all warned him that something had gone very, very wrong. The only problem was that he had no idea whom he should tell. O'Carolan would have been his first choice of an adult to go to for help, but now he was missing.

Harry stood up straight and allowed his cane to snap into a straight staff once more. Then he set off down the corridor. He had not gotten far, when he was confronted by the tall, dark shape of Professor Snape.

"Mr. Potter," said Snape with his usual sneer. "Where are you headed in such a rush?"

Harry skidded to a stop. "Err, I, was…"

Professor Snape cut him off. "Wherever you were headed, it does not matter at the moment, Potter. Please come with me." Harry gaped at him. Thus far, he had been fairly successful in laying low, not arousing Snape's ire, so to be thus waylaid by him was an unpleasant surprise.

Professor Snape led him swiftly toward the Potions Tower. Harry trotted behind, feeling foolishly like a dog that had been told to heel; at the same time, he felt irritated that his own problems had been so forcibly interrupted. He wondered what he had done, and whether Snape planned to give him detention, which would effectively prevent him from doing anything to help Professor O'Carolan for several hours.

They reached the deserted Potions classroom at last. Snape ushered Harry inside and closed the door behind them. Then he rounded on Harry.

"Where is Professor O'Carolan?" he demanded, harshly.

Harry gaped. "I don't know, sir. I was just…"

Snape interrupted him. "Tell me the truth, Potter," he snarled.

"Sir, I…" Harry began again, but Snape again cut him off.

"Look at me," said Snape angrily.

Harry furiously glared at the blurred shape before him. He could not see Snape's eyes, merely the vague outline of the man towering above him.

"What is going on, here, Potter. I want the truth. All of it," said Snape in a low, ominous tone. Harry quailed.

"I have no idea where…" Harry tried again.

Without warning, Harry felt Snape plunge into his mind. He felt the presence in his consciousness like a dousing of cold water, and he gasped. Then, just as quickly, he was free again.

For a moment Snape stood still, and the silence roared between them.

"It is far, far worse than I feared," said Snape at last, in a tone of resignation that Harry had not heard before. Then he did something that made Harry swallow hard. He walked behind Harry and turned a key roughly in a lock, drew his wand, and muttered various silencing charms over the door and the room. He turned back to Harry, who stood with his heart beating like the wings of a small, trapped bird against the cage of his ribs.

Snape did not approach Harry. Rather, he turned with a whirl of his black cloak and stalked to his desk, where he sat.

"Please, have a seat, Potter," he said in an odd voice, one that Harry dared not disobey. Slowly, Harry felt for one of the front row tables and sat.

"You've seen him," stated Snape flatly. Harry blinked back at him. "You need not deny it," said Snape. "There are ways of getting past even your damaged eyes. I know you've seen him. What did he tell you? What did he offer you? Did you…?"

Harry sat, stunned, gazing back at the potions master. His thoughts swirled, and he had no idea what to say. Did Snape think Harry had harmed O'Carolan? Did Snape know everything Harry was thinking? What would he do? Harry felt tongue-tied.

"Listen, you foolish boy," said Snape in a louder voice. "Listen to me. Once I was like you. Once he found me too. He found me and he offered me my heart's desire. I loved someone once. Oh, how I loved her." His voice cracked on the last word and he sat for a moment in struggling silence.

Harry felt as though the world had tilted. What was Snape talking about? Love? Harry could hardly imagine the surly potions master as a being capable of love, and yet here it was, a confession spilling from him like the greasy leftovers pouring from a disused pan. Why was Snape telling him this?

Snape took a shuddering breath and continued. "He offered me her love and I believed him. He offered me my heart's desire, so I became his servant." He leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk in front of him so that his elbows stuck out awkwardly like the limbs of a spider. "Do you know what happened, Potter? Of course you do."

Harry shook his head confusedly.

Snape sighed. "No, you wouldn't. It was Lily. I loved her, and the Dark Lord promised that she would become mine if I served him. He promised me my heart's desire, Potter, and then, after I took the Dark Mark, he killed her."

Harry slumped. His mind reeled. Voldemort had killed his mother… to spite Snape? To cast it up in his servant's face that there was no going back? Snape was a Death Eater? No wonder he knew Harry was in the glade, for he had been there, too. He had seen Harry on the altar of his tombstone, bound by Wormtail's curse, awaiting Voldemort's offer. He had known the honeyed words that would be dripped into Harry's waiting ears. Why had he waited so long to tell Harry that he knew?

"I wanted you to be stronger than I was," said Snape, with a strange, strangled sound in his voice, answering Harry's unvoiced question. "Tonight, I knew I could not wait any longer."

"But I didn't do anything to Professor O'Carolan," cried Harry.

Snape sat back in his chair, his breath exhaling in a long, slow sigh. "Things are moving faster than I had anticipated" he said as if to himself.

Harry stood to his feet, the stool he had been sitting on falling over with a clatter behind him. "Can Voldemort raise the dead?" he asked bluntly.

Snape sucked in a quick breath at the name. "No," he spat. "No, you fool. He kills, deceives, twists. He cannot make or create or bring back that which is dead."

"Deceives?" asked Harry, turning the word over and over in his mind. Then, struck by a new thought, he asked, "if you're a Death Eater, why are you telling me all this? Why help me?"

"Stupid," burst out Snape, making Harry jump. "Do you not understand, even now? But no, you cannot understand. Yet you must choose. What has he offered you? Love?"

Harry fumbled for the overturned stool behind him, righted it and sat again before answering. "My sight," he said in a low voice, and as he spoke the words, he felt a weight that had been sitting in the middle of his chest rise off of him and dissipate. "My sight, and my parents."

Snape sat silently for such a long time, Harry wondered if he'd heard. Harry let his gaze drop to the top of the table. He felt tears forming, and he struggled to hold them back, fought against the weakness within himself. He did not want the intimidating man who sat before him to see them. Confusingly, he felt an odd relief at the sharing of his secret, combined with the terrifying realization of what he'd put into words now hanging in the air before him.

Then, at last, Snape spoke. "Of course. Your heart's desire. Of course." Silence surrounded them again, a silence filled with pain and sadness, as well as an odd camaraderie. Harry had the sudden realization that Snape no longer hated him. He thrust this thought away from him, as it was too strange at the moment to contemplate.

"Professor O'Carolan told me," began Harry hesitantly, thoughtfully, "that giving in to Voldemort…"

Snape cringed at the name.

Harry continued, "…that turning traitor to my morals and err, character… was worse than being blind."

Snape sat silently again. Harry waited.

"He would know," said Snape.

"About turning traitor?" asked Harry.

"About being blind," snapped Snape.

Harry chewed his lower lip.

"I cannot say which is worse," said Snape slowly. "But if I could give my eyesight and be free this night, I would do it."

"You would?" asked Harry in disbelief.

"You're only a child," said Snape angrily. "It's a choice you should never have to make." He added in a lower voice, "it's a choice no one should ever have to make."

At these words, Harry could no longer hold back the tears. His shoulders shook. The dam broke and sobs ripped from him, stealing his breaths in great, muscle-tearing heaves. Valiantly, he struggled to control himself, while Snape sat in stony silence.

"He cannot do it," stated Snape flatly. "He lied to you."

The words rang against the insides of Harry's head, reverberating like a bell. Somehow he'd known all along, yet he'd cherished hope. He'd wanted to be deceived. He'd wanted it to be true. And all along, he'd known deep down it was all lies. At that moment, he felt as though he'd been standing on the edge of a wide, tall chasm, looking over the edge, telling himself that if he jumped, he would be all right. Now someone had pulled him back, and he sat like a child on the edge, shivering and shaking at the thought of what could have been.

At last his sobs slowed, allowing him to relax and take a breath. "I-I-I know," he gasped.

Snape did not question. He seemed to understand what Harry had been thinking.

"What am I going to do now?" asked Harry quietly.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry lay outstretched on his bed with his chin resting on the back of his hands, his nose nearly touching that of the big, orange tabby cat, Crookshanks. The cat stared at him, unblinking.

"I need to tell you something," said Harry.

The dormitory was empty, save for Harry and the cat. The rest of the school had gathered down at the Quidditch pitch, and though Harry had felt a twinge of regret at missing the match, an opportunity to have some time in the quiet of the empty dorm room was too good a chance to miss.

Crookshanks blinked slowly at Harry in reply.

"No really," hissed Harry. "Don't do that sleepy cat routine. I really, really need to talk to you."

The cat stretched lazily.

"Oh, all right," said Harry furiously. "I've seen Voldemort. There."

At once, Crookshanks sat bolt upright, slowly changing into the lanky, dark-skinned form of Feliss Eliot, Special Forces Auror.

"That's better," said Harry smugly.

Before answering, Feliss Eliot paced swiftly around the room, casting silencing charms and locking the door, a precaution Harry felt that he himself ought to have had the foresight to take. He looked down at the floor. Eliot pulled a wooden chair forward from the far side of the room and sat on it with arms crossed, glaring at Harry. "You know, I much preferred the bed," he said at last.

Harry sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Ignoring Eliot's complaint, he burst forth a torrent of words. "He captured me. Well, Wormtail captured me. They used the bodybind curse, tied me to this tombstone, used my blood, Voldemort came back…" Harry shuddered. "They broke my cane." Somehow, in spite of the horrors he had witnessed, even the images Voldemort had used inside of his mind; the breaking of his cane seemed to him the most upsetting, the most invasive of all the things his enemies had done that night. It was as though that simple act of disrespect and taking away something he so needed that was now such a part of him had conveyed to him that he meant nothing to them beyond what they could use.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned then," said Eliot softly, as if to himself. "Tell me everything."

Harry told him about that awful night, his words spilling out as if all those weeks of holding the secret close had created a pressure, and now they had been released. Talking with Snape about it the night before had freed something in Harry, a dark, evil thing that had held him bound, a prisoner of his own choices. He told about the knife, and the slash in the palm of his hand.

Eliot reached roughly for Harry's right hand and Harry winced as he felt the fragile wound re-open. "But you have had this cut for weeks," he said sternly, looking closely at Harry's face. Harry looked at the floor.

"Yes," he said simply.

Eliot gave Harry's hand a little shake, which made Harry flinch with the pain. Eliot looked down again at the blood now seeping into the bandage. "It has not healed as it ought," he said. Then he looked again at Harry's face. "Why are you only now telling me about this?"

"I-I-I…" Harry fumbled. "H-he told me something, offered me something." The words sounded thin and childish to his ears now. How foolish he had been to listen to Voldemort at all. Of course the Dark Lord had never meant to help Harry, only to make use of him.

"Go on," said Eliot, in a tone no less harsh.

"I-I-I, He said he would, that I would, err," Harry tried again.

"You do know he has had time to do terrible things while you waited?" said Eliot, more harshly still.

Harry nodded miserably. Eliot let out a long breath and seemed to wilt a little on his chair. "It's not your fault, boy. Stronger men than you have not been able to withstand his temptations."

Harry thought of Snape and the bitterness and misery in his voice. He sat silently on the edge of his bed, head bowed.

"Did he do anything more?" Eliot asked finally.

"He called… err… people to him. Dark cloaks." Harry frowned a little, trying to recall any sort of detail in the swirling mist of his unseen memories.

"Death Eaters," said Eliot knowingly.

"They talked, and I didn't hear what they said, and then they all left again. Everyone left, and I was alone," Harry finished.

Eliot sat for some time, pondering this information. He seemed to be trying to decide what to do. Finally, he spoke. "I ought to inform the Order," he said. "But I am sworn to protect you. To leave your side now could prove fatal. I need to find Homer."

"Professor O'Carolan?" asked Harry, startled.

"Yes. He can get a message to the Order for me," said Eliot, rising to his feet and turning with a silken swish of robes.

"Wait!" said Harry desperately. "He's not here, I mean, he's been taken."

"Taken?" asked Eliot, turning back toward Harry.

"I went to find him yesterday," explained Harry in a rush. "His office was empty and dark and Alexei Carrow…"

"You mean to say they have already…?" asked Eliot angrily.

"I-I-I'm afraid that something terrible has happened to him," said Harry, his face creasing with concern.

Eliot stood still for another long moment, thinking. "There's no one else I can trust," he said finally in a low voice.

"I'll see Sirius in a few weeks at Christmas," ventured Harry.

"It may have to do," answered Eliot, and without another word, he was a cat again. Harry set his hand on the warm fur of the cat's back, thinking how glad he was to have Eliot there with him.

[break]

The Christmas holidays could not come soon enough for Harry. The days had grown short; only a few hours of feeble daylight showed through the castle windows, and the snow was piled in soft drifts against the dark stone walls. The weeks since his talk with Eliot had been tense. Professor O'Carolan remained missing. To Harry's surprise, no one took over the Divination class; it was merely canceled, and none of the Durmstrang students showed the least surprise. Harry wondered if a disappearing teacher was a common occurrence.

Following the last knitting class before the holidays, Natalia sought out Harry and linked her arm chummily through his. He had been avoiding her over the last several weeks, turning and heading the other way when he saw her long, silver hair or smelled her enticing scent. He'd wanted time to think, and she was distracting. Too distracting, he discovered, as he found himself daydreaming about her rather than concentrating on his class work. When she cornered him after knitting, he felt simultaneously irritated and pleased.

"I've missed you," she said in her musical voice.

"I, err, I've missed you too," Harry replied.

"Why have you avoided me?" she asked with a girlish pout.

Harry considered. Of course the truth was out of the question.  _ I've avoided you because I was considering joining the Dark Lord and taking over the world, so that he would keep his promise to restore my sight and bring my dead parents back to life, the same parents that he happened to have killed thirteen years ago. Err, no.  _ "Well, I've been busy with classes and Quidditch and…" he trailed off.

"You weren't even at the last Quidditch match," she accused.

"Well, err, no, I wasn't," he admitted. She removed her hand from his arm and stood with her back to the stone wall of the corridor, so he had to stop walking and face her.

"Why did you miss? It was a khoroshe match. Very exciting." She still pouted.

"Well…" Harry cast about in his mind for something plausible to say. "It's just that Quidditch isn't so much fun to watch when I can't really see it and…"

"But that will all change, soon, yes?" she purred in a voice that was almost a whisper.

Harry's head flew up and he searched her face with his eyes, but turned away again in frustration. "How did you know that?" he hissed at her.

She let out a small, satisfied breath. "Never mind how I know these things," she said, taking his upper arms in her soft, cool hands and pulling him toward her. "It's true. Soon you will not need this, this…" and her voice held an underlying thread of distain as she touched the black handle of his cane.

Harry tensed. He suddenly realized that he needed to tread carefully, very carefully indeed. Apparently Natalia has inside knowledge from the Dark Lord, knowledge that even Snape had not had until he'd read Harry's mind. She had been instructed to get close to Harry, to aid in his temptation, and she did not know that he'd at last made up his mind against their plan. He realized that if he let slip to her what he'd decided to do, then Voldemort would also soon know, and his terrifying retribution would come swiftly.

A spasm shot through him as he thought about the emerald green, the brilliant red, the colors in his memory that would never now be his. He was choosing this life of endless gray fog, and he held the handle of the cane tighter for reassurance. Was he making the right choice? But the words of Professor Snape echoed in his mind. _ Deceit. Lies. Can only destroy. _ Yes, Harry was making the right choice. Natalia had tipped her hand to him at the critical moment and he must respond now without revealing his own hand, or all might yet be lost.

"Yes," he whispered, his eyes still downcast. "Only a little while longer, and then…"

She let out the breath she had been holding, its scent like a spring breeze in his face. Apparently, his long silence had unnerved her. "And then," she said, her unfinished sentence filled with promise and longing.

Harry suppressed a shiver. The realization that she was so closely allied with Voldemort that she knew even this secret rattled him. He wondered if he could trust anyone any more. He suddenly wanted to get away, to escape the hold of her soft hands, the enchantment of her honey-sweet voice that now sounded to him too sweet. He forced himself to stay calm, to play the part, to do everything he could not to alert her that he was cognizant of her deception, of her real intentions.

He reached up to her slender wrists that still grasped his arms. He took her hand and began to lead her onward down the hall. "And then," he said, bending low to brush the side of her silver hair with his chin and lips, "I will gaze into your beautiful eyes."

She took the hand that held hers and brought it to her lips, in a gesture that was both a kiss and to let him feel the smile that hovered around her mouth. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, willing his churning stomach to settle.

"I-I-I'm sorry," he said slowly, trying to make his words sound as hesitant as he actually felt impatient. "I must go. House, err, Hogwarts meeting, you know."

"Yes," she said. "Then go. Your Professor Snape, you can trust him, you know." She added this in a quiet voice full of meaning.

"Yes," agreed Harry sincerely, thinking how odd it was that Snape actually was one of the few he really could trust.

He let her fingers slip slowly away from his and turned toward the corridor that led to Hogwarts' Tower.

When he got there, the first thing he did was hunt up Adrian Pucey, Jamie Mercer, and Luna Lovegood. "We need to talk," he said.


	17. Chapter 17

Once Harry had gathered his friends in an out-of-the-way corner of an empty classroom, he took a deep breath and began.

"I need your help," he said. "You've noticed that Professor O'Carolan's gone missing?"

Several people nodded, and Luna said, "Yes."

"I think he was kidnapped by the Carrows," said Harry in a low voice.

"The Deputy Highmaster?" asked Jamie.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure they are Death Eaters," said Harry.

"Why would they kidnap Professor O'Carolan?" asked Jamie confusedly.

Harry looked at the floor, trying to find a way to explain, wondering how much he should tell them. "I've seen Voldemort," he said finally.

Adrian jumped to his feet at the name. "Bloody hell!"

"Shh," said Harry and Luna at the same time.

"I thought you were blind," Adrian said, still on his feet.

Harry motioned him to take his seat. "I am," he explained patiently. "In this case, I guess 'see' is more figurative, although…" he trailed off, unsure how to explain the visions, the deal Voldemort had tried to make with him and the brilliant temptation of tantalizing color he had seen. "Anyway," he resumed, "the Dark Lord's come back."

A stunned silence settled on the small group as each one digested this piece of information. Then Jamie spoke timidly, "Who's Voldemort?"

Adrian was instantly on his feet again. "Blimey, where'd you grow up? In a bloody hole?"

Harry recalled his own first year and how little he'd known of the wizarding world. "He's a dark wizard, Jamie," he said simply.

Adrian sat down again, muttering under his breath, "bloody muggle-borns." Harry ignored him.

"He's come back, and I think he was afraid Professor O'Carolan would influence me," he said.

"You, Harry?" asked Luna, who had sat quietly for the most part, listening. "To do what?"

"Well," Harry said awkwardly, "He sort of… err… tried to get me to turn to the dark… to join him…"

"If you're telling us about it, you must not be planning to take him up on it," observed Luna wryly, and Harry flashed a grin at her.

"Errr, no," he said, and hurried on. "I need to find Professor O'Carolan," he finished with urgency.

"Where do you think they took him?" asked Adrian.

"That's just it," said Harry. "I have no idea. He could be hundreds of miles away."

"What can we do?" asked Jamie eagerly.

"Well, as Adrian pointed out," said Harry, "I'm blind. Makes it hard to look for a bloke…"

Jamie chuckled. "Yeah, we can help there. Where do we start looking?"

Nobody answered for a long moment.

"If I was a Death Eater," began Luna serenely, "I'd want to keep him nearby, where I could keep an eye on him."

"He could be right here in the castle," agreed Adrian.

"It's a place to start, at least," said Jamie.

"We can't get caught looking for him," warned Harry. "Natalia…"

"The Veela?" interrupted Adrian.

At the same moment, Jamie asked, "your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, err…" said Harry. "She's not… well… she was sort of... anyway, she's a Death Eater too!"

"No!" said Adrian in surprise.

"She knew things she could not have known otherwise," insisted Harry.

"Does she have a Dark Mark?" inquired Luna with frank curiosity.

"I don't know," confessed Harry.

"What's a Dark Mark?" asked Jamie, and Adrian sighed with impatience. Luna took a moment to explain.

"I'm sure that Carrow kid is one too," said Adrian.

"Probably," agreed Harry.

"You're not one, are you, Adrian?" asked Luna curiously, and Adrian rounded on her.

"What, because I'm in Slytherin, I'm automatically a Death Eater?" he asked furiously.

"Calm down," began Harry, but Adrian cut him off.

"Take a look," he said angrily, and pushed up both sleeves exposing the insides of his forearms. Harry couldn't tell whether he had anything there, but apparently Luna was satisfied.

"We only have a week until the hols," said Harry. "I'll tell Sirius about Volde-"

"Don't say it," warned Adrian.

"-mort then," finished Harry, ignoring him. "But if we can find Professor O'Carolan before that, he can help us."

"Help us do what?" asked Jamie.

"Oh, form a plan and take on the Dark Lord ourselves, singlehandedly freeing the wizarding world," said Adrian nastily, apparently still ruffled about Luna's question.

"Something like that," said Harry shortly.

"How long has Professor O'Carolan been missing?" asked Jamie thoughtfully, apparently oblivious to the Slytherin/Gryffindor tension.

"I went to his office again yesterday," began Harry.

"The last Divination class was three weeks ago," said Luna.

"Was he there then?" asked Adrian, his attention diverted from his quarrel.

"They haven't had class since," said Luna. "There was a sign saying class was canceled."

"You know," said Adrian, "I thought that was odd…"

"Right, then," said Harry in the tone of voice used by someone ending an interview. "Let's go looking." He stood, and the others followed his example.

"We'd be safer in pairs," suggested Jamie, and Harry didn't know if she was nervous herself, or thinking of him, but he was grateful for the suggestion.

"Right," he agreed. "Jamie, come with me. You two go together. If you find anything…" He stopped, unsure of the best way to communicate between the two groups.

"Here," Luna said, holding out her hand. Harry took whatever it was that she had in her palm. Once he had it, he still couldn't identify what he held. A small, irregularly shaped piece of metal, bound to a chain. He fingered it curiously. "It's a friendship necklace," she explained. "I bought it in case I ever got a friend. You tap it with your wand, like so…" she tapped, "and the other one vibrates, to remind you of your eternal friendship."

Harry grinned. "Brilliant. So if you find anything, signal us and we'll all meet back up here." He took the friendship necklace and slipped the chain over Jamie's small head. Adrian snorted, but Harry didn't doubt that he admired Luna's quick thinking.

Harry unfolded his cane. By this time, the castle had settled into the uneasy stillness that told Harry it was past curfew. The hallways had filled with thick, black shadows and eerie silences. Harry wondered where to begin. Upon leaving the classroom, Jamie turned to the right, so he followed her, placing his left hand on her slim shoulder for guidance, although he figured he could see nearly as well as she could in the darkness, and he kept his cane ready to find corners and stairs.

Durmstrang was built vertically, rising in a roughly square shape around a central courtyard that held a garden with a silent fountain. The corridors and aisles circled this square, with stairways leading from floor to floor at various points along them. To Harry's relief, none of these stairways moved, at least up to this point they had remained stationary. He remembered with a grimace the day he'd nearly fallen off of one of Hogwarts' moving staircases, the day he'd decided he needed to use the cane. The memory of that terrifying fall came back to him, and he shivered.

"What's wrong?" asked Jamie in an undertone.

"What? Oh, nothing," answered Harry, tightening his grip on the handle of his cane. They came to a corner where the corridor turned at right angles to the way they were going, and Jamie stopped.

"Where are we going to look?" she asked.

Harry had been wondering this himself, so he did not answer right away. He wished Hermione were there, because she would have already thought of a plan and would likely lead them straight to wherever Professor O'Carolan was hidden. Think, he told himself, but he felt like he was simply drooling on his shoes.

"I guess in a dungeon," he said finally. "People used to keep prisoners in the dungeons, right?"

"I-I-I think so," said Jamie, as if the idea of exploring the dungeons in the middle of the night did not appeal to her at all.

They headed down the hallway until they came to a stairway that led downward. Once on the level below, they had to walk quite a piece before they found another stair that led down. Harry remembered the day O'Carolan had been teaching him how to use being lost to get where he was going. He planned to do that now… keep moving in the general direction he needed to go until he found something useful.

They found the next staircase, and the next, until they found themselves on the ground level, where the entrance hall was. Harry stood for a minute, listening to the echoing space.

"This castle is much quieter than Hogwarts," he observed, thinking that such a trip there would have already turned up a couple of ghosts, and probably Peeves, not to mention Mrs. Norris or even crabby old Filch himself. He wondered whether Durmstrang even had a caretaker, and if so, why he'd never run into him.

"Is it?" murmured Jamie, and Harry realized she had hardly been in Hogwarts.

"I love it there," Harry said, almost before he could stop himself, but Jamie gave a little shiver.

"Is that where we're going?" she asked, pointing to the yawning black hole that led to the next downward staircase. Harry squinted at it, trying to remember if this was the way he usually went to the Dark Arts class. The shadows made even familiar routes confusing.

Harry nodded and took her hand, leading her toward the black stairway. She hung back, but followed without protest as he felt with his cane for the first step. Before he could get there, however, he was stopped by an invisible barrier. Letting Jamie go, he put his hand out to feel the thing that blocked his path. It did not feel like the wood of a door, nor yet like stone or cloth or any sort of barrier he had ever yet encountered. But it stopped his hand as surely as wood or stone.

"It's a magic wall," breathed Jamie. "It's invisible."

Harry had never seen such a barrier before, and he felt thoroughly perplexed by it. Again, he wished fervently for Hermione, who would know what it was, as well as a spell to remove it, most likely. He sighed in frustration.

"We need a key," said Jamie firmly. Harry swung to face her.

"You have seen this before?" he asked in surprise.

"No, of course not," said Jamie. "But the stairway to the dungeons always has an enchanted door that you have to find the magic key to open. Haven't you ever played computer games?"

"No, Dudley did," muttered Harry, then louder, "Where do we find the key?"

"Oh, it's always in a secret upstairs room, guarded by an evil ogre," said Jamie flippantly.

"Perfect," said Harry. "And where is the prisoner always found?"

"At the top of the tallest tower, guarded by a vampire," responded Jamie promptly.

"Heh, Hermione told me I was starting to sound like a Vampire," said Harry dryly, but suddenly stopped. "I know where to look for a key," he said quickly. "Come on!" Grabbing Jamie's hand again, he led her back the way they had come.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry pounded his fist into the opposite palm in frustration. They had searched for Professor O'Carolan all night, at last giving up as dawn lightened the windows of Durmstrang. Harry and Jamie had not found a way to unlock the magical barrier to the dungeons either; they figured they would simply have to look during the day when the way was open.

Once daylight arrived, however, they were not to be allowed to continue their search, as the Hogwarts students had to be down at the quay. The ship that would take them back to their school in time for the Yule ball and the Christmas holidays would be arriving that morning.

With rather more force than was necessary, Harry threw his belongings into his trunk. He was beginning to get really worried about the Professor, not to mention his nervousness about meeting Sirius and Remus and coming clean to them about all that had happened. Whenever he thought about it, Harry felt a sharp edge of worry rake his insides. Feliss watched him pack from his contented perch on Harry's bed.

"You like this?" Harry asked him, and for a response, the cat yawned.

No one was in the room, so Harry shut the door and turned to face Feliss, who now reclined on Harry's bed, propped on one elbow.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Being a cat makes me so sleepy, especially when there is a nice patch of sunshine…"

Harry ignored this. "I couldn't find Professor O'Carolan," he hissed through clenched teeth.

Feliss let out a long breath. "I'll stay, and look for him," he offered.

Harry hadn't considered this possibility. "Can you?" he asked.

"You should be safe enough with Professor Snape on the journey back to Hogwarts," Feliss assured him. "You talk to Sirius right away, okay?" His tone had become laced with a sternness that Harry hadn't heard from him before.

"Right," Harry agreed, although the knot still sat uneasily in his gut.

At that moment, footsteps sounded outside the door. Harry looked quickly toward the bed, where the dim shape of the furry cat stretched lazily. Harry closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. The door opened and Adrian flung himself into the room.

"You ready to go?" he asked Harry.

"Almost," Harry replied briefly, trying to remember if he had set any of his belongings in out-of-the-way places where they might be forgotten.

"I'll be so glad to get out of this bloody place," said Adrian.

"Why?" asked Harry curiously.

"School, mate. Who likes school, anyway?" said Adrian diffidently. "And this exchange thing just makes it worse."

Harry wondered if Adrian was referring to his inability to read. He supposed having new professors and sometimes different languages would compound Adrian's problems exponentially. Harry didn't ask, though, because he was busy pulling clothes out from under his bed and stuffing them into his trunk.

"You going home for the hols?" he asked, when he finally emerged again and stood upright.

Adrian kicked at his trunk. "To my aunt's house, yeah," he said.

"I used to live with my aunt and uncle," said Harry.

"The muggles?" asked Adrian with curiosity.

"Yeah, you heard about them?" asked Harry.

"Well, I heard that Harry Potter had been raised by muggles, but not much about them," said Adrian.

"There's not much to know," said Harry, turning back to his trunk.

"Were they nice?" asked Adrian, after a short pause.

"No," said Harry shortly.

Adrian didn't comment. Harry latched and locked his trunk, pocketed the key, then brushed his fingers across the nightstand where his folded cane always sat. It was empty.

Adrian reached past Harry to the floor where it had fallen. "This what you're looking for?" he asked.

"Er, yeah," said Harry with a slight frown. "Thanks." He took the folded cane. "I think that's it, then."

"Yule ball tonight," said Adrian, as they left the room.

"Oh, yeah," said Harry. He'd been so preoccupied with Professor O'Carolan that he hadn't even thought about the dance at Hogwarts. "Are you taking anyone?" he asked absently, concentrating on the hallway, where the sudden light from a south-facing window had momentarily washed everything around him with painful light.

Adrian didn't answer right away. Harry didn't realize he'd stopped walking until he bumped into his shoulder.

"Are you taking anyone?" Adrian asked nervously.

"Errr," said Harry, who honestly hadn't thought about it. He thought briefly about Natalia, but she wouldn't be there.

"I want to ask Sarah, you know, Sarah Bright," said Adrian, his words tumbling over themselves in a rush, as if he was confessing something.

"Well, you should then," said Harry, who honestly couldn't care less at that point. Even after a semester, he felt he hardly knew Sarah, who was a quiet girl. She seemed to be often buried in her books. "Is she good looking?" he asked, trying to remember if he'd ever noticed Sarah back when he could see.

"She's not bad," said Adrian in a tone that implied she was a little better than that.

"Definitely, then," said Harry and laughed. Adrian laughed too.

"Do you think she'd go with me?" he asked anxiously.

"Sure, why not?" asked Harry, still chuckling.

"Well, I'm a Slytherin…" Adrian said, drawing out his words thoughtfully. "And I'm not the brightest guy…"

"Says who?" asked Harry hotly.

"Well, you know," said Adrian in an apologetic tone.

"Slytherin isn't bad," said Harry, wondering if he should cross his fingers. "And reading has nothing to do with how smart you are. Just ask her."

Adrian fell silent for a while, and Harry wondered if he was embarrassed or considering. When he spoke, Harry decided it must have been the latter. "I will," he said with an air of resolution.

They got to the common room and were joined by Luna and Jamie, who both yawned.

"Back to Hogwarts, eh?" asked Harry, playfully punching Jamie in the arm.

"It can't be so bad," she responded.

As the Hogwarts students milled around their common room, waiting to go down the long, stone stairway to the magical ship that would take them back to England, Harry remembered that a book Professor O'Carolan had promised to lend him still sat in the dark, cold office upstairs. Harry supposed that the professor would still lend it to him over the holidays, even if he wasn't there to give it.

While the others chatted, Harry slipped out the door and into the silent, dim hallway. The short northern day was already drawing to a close, although lunch was scarcely finished. Grateful for the dimness, and the solitude, Harry shook his cane out straight with a snap and headed upstairs as quickly and quietly as he dared.

The door was locked.

"Alohomora," Harry whispered, pointing his wand at the door.

The lock sprang open with a click and Harry pocketed his wand, pushing the door open. The room felt colder and smelt mustier than it had previously. Harry pressed his mouth into a tight line, wishing he knew where to find O'Carolan. He moved toward the desk, his cane held gingerly straight up and down, like a long pencil, writing a line on the floor. The tap as it touched the desk sounded loud in the silent space.

Harry reached a hand toward the first stack of books, quickly scanning the lines of Braille on the sides of each cover, looking for the one Professor O'Carolan had promised to him. When he did not find it, he moved on to the other side of the desk, standing in front of the Professor's chair.

His probing fingers felt a fine layer of dust. They bumped something, a piece of metal that fell with a ping. Harry crouched, feeling in the dark shadows under the desk.

His hands found the piece of metal, a triangle-shaped wedge, flat along two sides, and cold to the touch. A memory struggled to the surface of his mind. Where had he held one of these before? He touched the tip of the triangle with one finger, and recollection slammed across his thoughts. The Shop of Requirement. The Hansel-And-Gretel. But Professor O'Carolan had pooh-poohed using one of those to navigate. Why then, did he have one on his desk?

Harry swept the desktop again, locating the metal brailler sitting in the center of the workspace. This was the last thing Professor O'Carolan had been writing. He tore the paper out of the machine, and sat down in the professor's chair, running his fingers along the sheet. It read like a journal.

October 3rd: Have continued experiments with the navigator The Boy mentioned. Magic contained within is crude, more like a souvenir than a real tool. But so much easier to manipulate that way. Possible use as a homing device.

October 5th: Boy still acting strangely. Also, Carrows closing in. I may have to move sooner than I expected. Experiments going well on navigation device. If nothing else, it may be used to locate me, should my guess be right.

October 6th: Have attempted to imprint my own signature on navigation device. Not sure how reliable it will be, as magic continues to be erratic. Will attempt…

The words stopped abruptly, as if the professor had been interrupted in his writing.

Harry frowned, his left hand still turning the heavy metal triangle over and over. What did Professor O'Carolan mean, a homing device?

Harry pulled out his wand, and tapped the triangle in his palm. The metal began to vibrate and grew warm. Slowly, it rotated, like the needle of a compass, until it slowed, resting on his upturned palm. Harry touched it gingerly. It pointed at the office door.

Harry jumped to his feet, his heart thumping. Taking his cane in his right hand, he held the Hansel-And-Gretel navigator in his left, sitting on his flat palm. As he circled the desk, it spun, resolutely pointing at the door until he reached it. The moment he went through, it pivoted, indicating that he should head down the corridor.

Listening carefully for signs of wandering Durmstrang students, Harry followed the directions the little arrow gave him. It led him down corridor after corridor, and up several sets of staircases. Once, a group of students approached, laughing loudly and talking in Swedish. Harry ducked into a shadowy alcove while they passed, holding the bright white stick close between his body and the wall.

They didn't see him. Once they had passed, he let out a long breath and continued. Another long staircase and he was in one of the fusty, dark towers. After a short landing, a spiral stair led up in ever-narrowing circles. Harry had never explored this deep into Durmstrang's interior, and he doubted his ability to find his way back. At this moment, he didn't really care, so focused was he on following the spinning, pointing arrow he held on his open palm.

Up and up and up he climbed, his breath beginning to come in panting gasps. Still, the arrow pointed him onward. He wondered, if he'd counted the steps, would have reached one hundred yet? Still, he climbed. A draught of chill air began to caress his face, and the ghostly fingers of a cobweb swirled across his cheek.

All at once, for no apparent reason, the metal arrow pivoted, and reversed. Harry stopped. It now pointed back down the stairs.

He stood still for a moment. Should he follow it all the way back down again. Was it simply faulty, as Professor O'Carolan had feared? What if he couldn't find his way back again to the Hogwarts Common Room?

As he stood on the narrow, twisted stair, Harry realized that the others had probably left by now. This thought made his stomach sink into his shoes. He turned, and stumbled back down the stairs the way he had come.

After a few stairs, the arrow pivoted again. It pointed up the stairs. Harry closed his fist around it, ready to shove it angrily into his pocket. It vibrated a protest, and he held his hand up once again, palm open. It pointed up the stairs.

With a sigh, he retraced his steps, slowly. After three or four steps, the arrow quickly pointed at the wall. Startled, Harry looked up. The wall, lost in shadow, looked the same as it had everywhere else in the tower. Rounded, curving, made of rough, dark stone. He raised his hand and touched it. He felt the cracks between the stones, running along without a break. He climbed a few more steps, his hands still tracing the wall. The arrow pointed downward, still at the wall. Harry moved the arrow along the wall, feeling its point move back and forth, as if one particular spot in the concave surface attracted it like a magnet. His searching fingertips found no indication of a doorway.

He listened. Eerie silence surrounded him. No one was near. He was sure he would hear any approaching footsteps ascending the tower stairs toward him long before they reached him.

"Professor?" Harry whispered. Silence.

"Professor O'Carolan?" he said, a little louder.

"Can you hear me, Professor?" he called in a more urgent voice.

He listened again.

The answer came softly, muffled by distance and layers of stone and magic. "Harry? Harry? Is that you?"

"Professor! I've found you! How do I get you out of there?" asked Harry joyfully.


	19. Chapter 19

Splayed against the inwardly curving stone wall, like an absurd human spider, Harry pressed his ear against the hewn blocks in an attempt to hear the faint voice of the professor on the other side.

"…in a room… thickness of the wall… you can't… high window…"

The voice trailed off as though the professor had grown tired. Harry traced the square stones with his fingers. They had been hewn carefully, fitted together with such precision that there was almost no mortar between them. Each had been formed with a curve, so the curvature of the inside of the tower staircase was smooth, not caused by straight bricks set at an angle. Where the wooden steps joined the wall, a stone ledge ran around the inside of the curve, but other than that, the wall was steep, smooth, and straight without a break for as high as Harry could see, which was not far. The color of the stones seemed much darker than the walls at Hogwarts, and even the color was forbidding.

Harry sat on the wooden steps and lowered his forehead into his fists to think. Help. He needed help. But where would he find help now?

Standing to his feet again, Harry pulled out his wand, and said clearly, " _ Accio _ cat!" Nothing happened.

He sat down again on the step.

He stood again, and said, " _ Accio _ Crookshanks!" Nothing happened.

Harry sat again, and plunged the heels of his hands into his stinging eyes, rubbing at them furiously, willing the pain to leave so he could think.

A noise below him made him pause. When he opened his eyes again, for a moment all was dark, then his eyes adjusted to the dim staircase. He frowned, listening with all his concentration.

The sound came nearer, a whining, screech, approaching like the whistle of a train. Louder it came, bursting into angry caterwauls as it hurtled upward around the wooden spiral staircase. Harry stood transfixed as an angry ball of long fur hurtled into his arms, spitting and hissing and full of bared teeth and unsheathed claws. As soon as it was able, it dashed from his arms onto the steps, then turned and swore at him as only a cat can, growling furiously. It was so angry, it took a few minutes before it had calmed down enough to transform.

Harry, once he had recovered from the surprise, stood smothering laughter until Feliss stood, two steps below him, his robes disheveled, and looking quite as irate in human form as he had when he was a cat.

"Was that entirely necessary?" he asked, shaking out his robes, and rounding on Harry. "And twice? Indeed, I have not been so…" he sputtered, but Harry interrupted.

"Sshhh," he soothed. "Listen. I've found Professor O'Carolan. I need your help to get him out."

"Found Professor…" repeated Feliss, still ruffled. Then he seemed to get hold of himself. "You don't say! Harry, well done! Where is he then?"

"Well, I'm not sure exactly," Harry began. "He's there, beyond that wall," and he laid his palm on the dark, cold stone.

"Beyond that wall?" asked Feliss, and Harry could already hear in his tone that his mind had begun to work. Unbidden to Harry's mind came the picture of a cat with narrowed eyes, working out a problem in stalking a beetle. Feliss moved forward and ran his own hands over the wall.

"Professor?" called Harry. "I've got here…"

"Hush," broke in Feliss. "Sound travels far, and enemies are near."

Harry clamped his jaws together, his cheeks growing hot. "He said something about a high window," he put in helpfully, this time in a whisper.

"Yes, all right," said Feliss, and leaped past Harry up the stair. "I'll be right back."

Harry sat glumly back on the step. The minutes ticked by, and he felt suddenly foolish and useless. Why hadn't he thought to explore farther up the stairs? He was about to begin climbing them again himself when he heard a soft sound above him. Fur touched his hand, and he inadvertently gave a yell.

"Don't do that!" Harry said, shivering at the thought of spiders and unseen things brushing onto his hands. "I can't hear you coming, you're so quiet."

"Sorry," said Feliss, standing up to his full height and giving himself a little shake. "Comes with the territory." Harry did not answer, so Feliss resumed. "Above this is a window, high on the top of the tower. This must have been one of the old watch-towers, and they cut wind-holes in the stone both to see and to shoot. This one looks toward the land, though most look toward the sea."

In spite of himself, Harry's interest was piqued. "Really? What did you find?"

"At the top of the castle keep is a bit of a roof that adjoins this tower, right as it rises above the main wall. It must be in there that the professor is being held," he explained, his robes swishing with the softness of silk as he gesticulated, although Harry could not see his hands. "I think I can get out onto this roof, and possibly find a way into his prison. If anyone knows the incantation to open this wall and free the professor, it is O'Carolan himself."

"But why hasn't he escaped, then?" asked Harry.

"Such an incantation may only be uttered by a certain person or in a certain location to work. Let us hope it is location in our case, as I don't think Professor Carrow will willingly help us free his prisoner, do you?"

"Professor Carrow?" asked Harry. "You think he is the one…"

"I know he is, but that is a story for later. I need to speak with the Order of the Phoenix," he said softly to himself.

Without another word, he was gone again, treading silently on cat's paws up the stairway, and out the wind-hole onto the gusty openness of the castle roof. Harry sat on the step with his chin in his hands, waiting. Minutes ticked by.

He sat back and thrust his hands into his pockets, looking for something with which to pass the time. His fingers closed around the little metal triangle, and he took it out, holding it up next to the wall, feeling its trembling tip with a gentle finger.

With its help, he traced the exact dimensions of the magical doorway, wondering if he had some way to mark the outline, and if it would help them later. He felt on the steps for a sliver of wood or a bit of rock, anything that would leave a mark on the stone wall. Nothing. The stairs were worn smooth from hundreds of years of shuffling feet.

His searching fingers ran across his cane, folded in half and lying on the step. He paused to consider it. It was aluminum, made of four sections held together in the center with elastic cords. These were tied at the top and bottom with knots, one at the top of the handle, and the other in a loop of the hook that held on the changeable tip. The tip, made of a hard plastic, might leave a mark on the wall like a crayon, something he could feel, perhaps. He stretched the cord, and slipped the tip off, careful not to let the cord snap back into the tube. Standing up again, he retraced the edges of the doorway, marking it with the hard plastic, which did not leave a mark that he could see, but a slight groove that he traced with feather-light fingertips. It was enough.

Slipping the tip back onto his cane, he folded it all the way up, wrapping the elastic handle around the sections to keep it folded. Then, he sat down again, holding the Hansel-And-Gretel in his palm, worrying it with his fingers, tapping his fingernails on it impatiently. He closed his eyes, listening for the whisper-soft cat footfalls.

Although it seemed like hours until Feliss returned, it was probably only about twenty minutes.

He came just as softly as Harry had anticipated, but this time, he stepped toward Harry in human form, and his voice held a smile.

"Yes, we'll have it," he said with satisfaction. "I have seen the Professor. Alas, he is weak." He paused for a minute, and Harry frowned.

"Weak?" he asked.

"They have held him for weeks in that cold, dark place with little to eat," Feliss explained.

Harry was about to comment that Professor O'Carolan probably didn't mind the dark, but he decided it was beside the point, and instead, he asked, "How do we open it?"

"Ah this door, it is a magic door, as I expected," explained Feliss. "The wizard must touch all edges of the door, and then simply recite the spell. The trouble is, I cannot see the door at all to touch the edges. We must find another way." He reached his hand up to the wall.

Harry grinned. "I know the way to touch the edges of the door." He explained what he had been doing in Feliss's absence. To his surprise, the tall man engulfed him in an exuberant hug and rumpled his hair.

"The boy is brilliant!" he proclaimed. Harry smirked, and attempted to flatten his hair again.

"What is the spell?" he asked, running his fingers again over the nearly non-existent lines he had drawn. Only his practice with Braille allowed him to touch the stone lightly enough to feel the tiny line.

" _ Verba hæc inquam aperiam ostium _ ," said Feliss, and Harry gaped. Feliss chuckled, and repeated them several times, until Harry could say them as well. He raised his wand, but before he could speak, they both heard a sound below on the steps. Both of them froze.

Feliss laid a warning hand on Harry's arm. Harry, who had been listening hard, jumped at the unexpected touch and he gasped with alarm. Feliss's hand tightened on his arm, a warning not to make any noise. Noiselessly, he began ascending the steps, his hand still on Harry's arm.

Harry, however, pulled away, bending over to sweep the step on which he stood with his fingers, looking for his folded cane. He found it immediately and turned to follow Feliss, his hand on Feliss's elbow. They walked as silently up the stairs as they can, while below them, the relentless sound of booted footsteps pounded upwards toward them. All at once, a voice broke out.

"You've wanted to get out of there, have you Professor? Well, now's your chance. 'E's called for, you see, so out you come, and double-quick, too."

Harry's grip tightened on Feliss's arm. Were they too late? Feliss paused. He'd heard the voice too.

"I must not be seen here, Harry," he whispered urgently.

"I understand," said Harry, releasing his arm. As soon as he did so, Feliss no longer stood beside him, but the fluffy orange cat rubbed against Harry's ankle, its tail fluffed up like a bottle brush.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, recalling all of the lessons he had done with Lupin, aiming with sound, catching an enemy by surprise, using all of his wits in order to keep the advantage against an adversary who could see. He turned and with his left hand anchored along the outside wall, he cautiously began descending the stairs again, taking extreme care to make no noise. He stopped, holding his breath to listen.

Step, step, step. Harry concentrated on the footsteps, forcing himself to pinpoint exactly where the man was, when he would round the bend and see Harry. He silently drew his wand, his eyes still closed, listening.

Step, step, step. How tall was the man? When would be the exact moment when he was within sight of Harry to hit with a spell, but not see him first? Harry opened his eyes, squinting into the dim stairwell, peering at the uneven, blurred edges and vague shadows. He felt his heart thumping, and he closed his eyes again, taking a long, slow, steadying breath. As he did so the feet came around the last bend below him.

At that moment, a cat yowled. "What the…?" the man cried in surprise, and with the sound of his voice, Harry had an accurate aim.

" _ Expelliarmus _ !" He yelled, flinging himself down two steps and nearly onto the man, whose wand clattered harmlessly to the floor. With that done, Harry then cast the bodybind curse, and the man stiffened, fell with a thud, and slid down two stairs like a toboggan, finally catching his feet on the outer wall.

Harry grinned with satisfaction to himself, and below him, on the stairs, he could hear Feliss purring.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry ignored the man lying on the stairs, and went back to his doorway. Touching his outline again of the door, he muttered the spell Feliss had taught him. He did not know what he expected, but he felt a bit of surprise when the stones melted into nothingness, and a draught of damp, chilly air met his cheek.

"Professor?" he whispered, and he felt the warm, furry body of the cat pass his ankles, and enter the room ahead of him.

"Harry, me lad?" came the voice of the old Irishman from the floor along the right-hand wall.

"Are you all right, sir?" asked Harry anxiously. As he entered the room, Harry held a hand in front of his face, as the room felt small and the roof low. He was glad he did, when his open palm touched a beam directly in front of his forehead. He crouched, kneeling by the side of the old man, who lay bound on the hard, wooden planks of the floor. Feliss helped, and together they freed the professor of his bonds and helped him move to the center of the room where the peaked roof was tall enough for him to sit up.

"They have my wand," the Professor said disconsolately. Feliss did not answer this; but was busy checking the room for other traps or enchantments.

"We can apparate directly out of here," he announced in his mellifluous, exotic voice. "Harry, you come too."

"Where are we going?" asked Harry in surprise.

"To Grimmauld Place," said Feliss, and before Harry knew what was happening, Feliss had crouched again by Harry and Professor O'Carolan. Harry felt an odd squeezing, then a whoosh, and the three were sitting on the cobbled street outside a row of shabby London houses.

"Whew, thanks for the warning," said Professor O'Carolan wryly, but Feliss shushed him.

"I am taking a terrible risk, being seen like this," he said in an undertone. Together, he and Harry bundled the weakened professor up the steps and onto the front stoop of Number 12. As flakes of snow drifted down onto his shoulder, Harry rang the bell, feeling oddly like someone selling subscriptions or a caroling party. He grinned at Sirius's gasp of surprise upon opening the door.

"Happy Christmas," he said lightly, as Sirius held the door wide and ushered them all in.

"Harry! How in the world…?" Sirius asked in amazement, which started Mrs. Black's portrait shrieking at the top of her lungs. He seemed to find his manners then, and invited everyone into the kitchen. "I'm sure you lot could do with a bite," he said, taking in the professor's haggard appearance.

"Much obliged," agreed O'Carolan. "I could murder a nice, strong cuppa."

They found Lupin in the kitchen. "Harry! Homer!" he said, startled. "Come, come, sit here." He helped Feliss guide O'Carolan to a seat.

While Feliss told the story of the rescue in his musical, eastern accent, Harry sat silently, taking in the warmth of the fire, the feeling of being utterly safe. He sighed with happiness.

"Well done, Harry!" said Lupin, when he heard about Harry's success with the man on the stairs. "Who was it, coming to get him, do you think?"

"I'm not sure," said Harry. "It didn't sound like Professor Carrow."

"You came just in time, anyway," said Professor O'Carolan with a shiver.

Silence descended over the table as each of them contemplated the truth of that statement. The teakettle whistled. Sirius and Lupin both jumped up, and soon everyone was enjoying hot tea and hearty helpings of Lupin's chicken soup.

"Tomorrow is Christmas," remarked Sirius. Harry jumped to his feet.

"The Yule Ball!" he shouted. "I am supposed to be at Hogwarts, and no one knows where I am. Hermione will be frantic."

"Snape will have my head," said Sirius. "We need to get you back there, Harry."

Feliss stood with his hands planted on the rough wood of the long kitchen table. "Harry," he said in a low, intense voice that made them all stop what they were doing and look at him. "Harry, you have something rather important to tell your godfather."

Harry went very still. He realized that Feliss was right. He had not told them about Voldemort's return, and his own indecision. He stared at the tabletop, his arms prickling as everyone's attention turned to him.

"I-I-I made a mistake," he began. "I should have told you…" His words fell one by one to the table in front of him.

"Told me what, Harry?" asked Sirius in a gentle voice.

"Voldemort has come back," said Harry, looking up at Sirius's indistinct face. His godfather cringed at the name.

"What?" cried several voices at once, and more than one person leapt to his feet.

Harry recounted the night in the old graveyard, the temptation, and his weeks of torment. "I'm sorry," he finished lamely.

"But this changes everything," said Professor O'Carolan. "This explains why they imprisoned me! They did not want my influence on Harry…"

"The question is, where is he now, and what is he planning?" said Lupin thoughtfully. "We need to get this information to Dumbledore right away."

"I can…" began Harry, but Feliss cut him off.

"Harry, it would be better if You-Know-Who was not alerted to the fact that you came to us. We can use this to our advantage, if he thinks he still might be able to get you on his side," he said, and Sirius agreed.

"I'll go tell Dumbledore," said Lupin. "No," he said holding up both hands to Feliss. "You stay with Harry."

"We need to gather the Order of the Phoenix again," said Sirius with finality. Harry wasn't sure what that meant, but he was too distracted to question it.

He and Lupin stood in front of Sirius's big fireplace, while Feliss changed again into Crookshanks, and curled himself in fluffy majesty around Harry's shoulders. Lupin took a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the fire, then stepped in, shouting "The Three Broomsticks!"

Harry followed, feeling for the little box of powder on the stone shelf at the right of the fireplace. He felt a half-smile cross his lips as he remembered the bright-green color he'd seen the first time he used floo powder. He tossed it into the fire, and stepped in, echoing Lupin's shout. In no time at all, he and Crookshanks were tumbling out of the narrow fireplace in the dim, shadowy pub. Madame Rosmerta bustled toward them, but at a few whispered words from Lupin, she quickly and quietly ushered them outside, where snow fell thickly, and the early afternoon had already gotten quite dark.

"The less fuss we make, the better," said Lupin quietly to Harry. "We'll get you up to the castle to rejoin your friends as soon as we can, so that no one knows you did not return on the ship."

Harry wondered briefly how Lupin knew about the magical Durmstrang ship, but since Lupin was already hurrying off down the snow-covered street, he could do nothing but follow as fast as he dared. He shook his cane straight and hurried after Lupin.

The snow dampened all sounds around Harry, and the falling flakes obscured what little he could see. In addition, the cobbled stones of the street felt slippery with ice under the snow. He slipped and slid along the street, frustrated that he could not keep up, and Lupin got farther ahead, disappearing into the swirling snow. He pressed doggedly onward, grateful for the thick Durmstrang coat he wore.

A figure loomed in front of him, and he flinched. Crookshanks's claws unsheathed against Harry's neck, as if he, too, had been startled.

"Harry, I'm sorry," said Professor Lupin out of the snowy dark, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "I was in such a hurry…" He did not finish his sentence, but offered his elbow to Harry as a sighted lead. Gratefully, Harry took it, and together they hurried down the narrow land and onto the road that led down to the train station, then up again to the castle.

"Can you see Hogwarts?" asked Harry wistfully, once they had passed the huge wrought-iron gates. Lupin stopped, and turned to face Harry.

"Do you miss it?" he asked, placing his hands on Harry's shoulders. Crookshanks shifted.

"The castle?" asked Harry.

"Seeing it," said Lupin simply.

Harry thought of the rows of twinkling windows, and the outline of towers against the night sky.

"I guess so," he said with a slight shrug. "I don't really think about it much anymore. I just wondered if you could see it through the snow."

"You're really adjusting marvelously well, you know, Harry," said Lupin, turning and resuming his way up the snow-covered road.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, frowning. He wasn't sure he was in the mood for this conversation with so much on his mind.

"Well, I've worked with a number of newly blinded witches and wizards. Many are much angrier about their circumstances than you. It takes some years to become as comfortable as you seem to be."

Harry could not be sure, but Lupin's tone seemed to imply something beyond what his words said, but it might have only been the wind. He said nothing more until they reached the castle itself.

"We're in luck," said Lupin. "The Yule Ball has not begun yet. You'd better hurry up to your dormitory and change, while I accomplish my errand."

"Change? Oh, blimey… where do you suppose my dress robes have gotten to?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"I have a feeling that will all work out," said Lupin, a smile lightening his grim voice.

They parted ways, and Harry dashed up toward Gryffindor Tower, his feet tracing the route he knew so well. At the portrait-hole, he realized that he didn't know the current password, but was saved by Ron coming out just as he walked up.

"Harry! Blimey, Harry!" he cried with astonishment and delight.

"Ron!" grinned Harry in return. Until that moment, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed his best mate.

"It's so good to see you! I wondered where you'd gone. The other exchangers got back ages ago," Ron babbled happily.

"I was… well, I'll tell you all about it in a bit," Harry said. "I need to change."

"Oh, yeah, yeah," said Ron, turning back to the Fat Lady. "Poppycock," he said breathlessly.

The portrait swung back, revealing the common room packed with chattering students. From the stifling smell of scent in the air, Harry guessed that they were all wearing their finery already.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, rustling toward him, and taking Crookshanks from his shoulders. "You old cat, I've missed you!" she said, half scoldingly. Crookshanks purred.

"We have to talk," Harry began in an aside to Hermione, but she pushed him toward the dormitory.

"Get changed, quickly!" she said. Then she added in a low voice, "we'll have to talk later."

Trust Hermione to already know what was afoot, Harry thought ruefully, and headed through the crowd toward the stairs. In the boys' dorm, Harry found his trunk waiting, and rummaging in it, he found the robes that he'd purchased in Diagon Alley months ago. He paused with his hand on the edge of his trunk remembering. He thought of the ice cream, and of Ginny's words that his eyes had glinted with red light.

He sat back on his heels, frowning to himself, and then began quickly to dress.


	21. Chapter 21

Descending the grand staircase toward the entrance hall, Harry self-consciously straightened his silk tie. It seemed that everyone around him was paired with someone, and he wondered if he would be the only person at the Yule Ball without a date. Ron had asked Lavender Brown, or rather, she had asked him, as Ron privately confessed to Harry. He seemed a bit put out by the whole thing, and Harry couldn't figure out why until they had gotten well down the stairs and were just outside the Great Hall.

"Blimey," said Ron, turning and looking upward at the top of the staircase.

"Cor," said someone else nearby. "They look like bloody royalty."

Harry looked toward the mass of people lining the grand staircase. "What is it?" he asked Ron, aside.

"Hermione," breathed Ron in enchanted tones.

"She's with Viktor Krum," said Lavender Brown snappishly, tugging on Ron's arm. He turned reluctantly and followed her into the Great Hall.

"Hello, Harry," said a voice at his elbow, just as he passed in the door.

"Luna," he said, turning to smile at her. She appeared to be alone, though with the press of people, Harry couldn't tell for sure. "Do you have a date?"

"No," she said without a trace of self-pity. "No one asked me."

Harry smiled at her again. Once inside the doorway, he stopped and turned toward her. "Luna," he said seriously, "would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?"

"Why yes, I think I will," she said archly, and took his arm.

"Brilliant," he said, his smile widening into a grin.

"Just so you're clear," she said a little anxiously, "I wore my Dirigible Plum earrings. Some people don't like them, but they're very good at keeping Nargles away during festive occasions."

Harry opened his mouth to say, "Impossible," but the word itself caught in his mouth. How many things had happened to him during the past year that he would have called impossible? How many people had brushed him off or underestimated him, looking only at the white cane, and not what was really possible, what was really him?

"They're beautiful," he said instead, smiling down at her face. Her hand on his arm felt soft, and it gave him a pleasant feeling somewhere deep inside.

As they stepped further into the great hall, Luna gave a little gasp of delight. "Harry, it's beautiful! All silver, with big fir trees, and it's snowing," she said happily. Harry enjoyed her delight fully as much as if he had been able to see the decorations himself; more, because she noticed things he probably would not have even bothered to look for. In a few sentences, she sketched a full picture of the winter wonderland that the Great Hall had become.

Someone bumped into him from behind. "Oops, sorry, mate," said a voice, then, "Harry!"

"Adrian," Harry replied.

"So, errr, yeah," Adrian said with a "look what I did" tone in his voice.

Harry elbowed him, then said, "Hello, Sarah." Her giggle told him he'd guessed right. "Way to go, mate," Harry whispered to Adrian.

When he had passed, Ron poked Harry in the ribs. "You know who that is, don't you, Harry?" he asked.

"Of course, why?" asked Harry.

"He's a Slytherin," said Ron in the tones he would use with a slow-witted three-year-old.

"Well, yeah?" said Harry nonchalantly. "He's all right, though."

"That bloody school exchange has sent you round the bend," said Ron, shaking his head. Harry grinned and smacked him.

The Three Weird Sisters struck up a tune, and students moved toward the dance floor.

"Do you want to dance?" Harry asked Luna.

"Not really," she replied frankly.

"Oh, okay," he said, feeling a bit relieved. He hadn't been too keen on trying to dance when he couldn't see what the others were doing, and he hadn't known what to do with his cane.

"Harry!" A booming voice next to him made him jump. "Good ter see yeh!"

"Hagrid, it's great to see you too," replied Harry enthusiastically. He turned to give Hagrid a hug around the middle. "How are you doing?"

"Well, I'm back ter teaching, you know," said Hagrid importantly.

"Yes, I'm sure your classes are…" he groped for words.

"Memorable," supplied Luna with a smile. "Hello Hagrid."

"Miss Luna. Good ter see yeh too," Hagrid replied, taking her hand politely. "Wot's that foreign school like, yeh two?" he asked curiously.

"It's very different," began Harry.

"They say it's chock full o' dark wizards," said Hagrid ominously.

"There are good wizards there too," protested Harry, thinking of Professor O'Carolan.

Luna said serenely, "Knitting class is particularly delightful."

"Knitting!" snorted Hagrid. "Wot yeh need that for?"

Harry answered truthfully, "I have no idea."

Suddenly, Hagrid said, "Harry, I want t' introduce yeh to someone. This here's Professor Moody."

Someone with an uneven gait had approached them, and a gruff voice said, "Harry Potter. So glad to finally meet you. Alastair Moody's the name, though most just call me Mad-Eye, for obvious reasons." He gave a throaty chuckle, but Harry frowned slightly. Obvious to most, he supposed, but not to him.

"Nice to meet you," he said evenly, holding out his hand. It took Moody a long moment to shake it, and Harry's frown deepened at the sudden chill of tension in the air. What was wrong?

"What's the matter with ye, boy?" growled Moody with a laugh, but his tone underneath seemed both curious and worried.

Hagrid began hesitantly, "I thought yeh knew, err, professor. Harry's well, yeh see, he's had a bit of…"

Harry snorted. "I'm blind, Professor Moody," he said wryly, tapping his cane slightly on the floor in front of him to emphasize its presence. He had assumed the entire wizarding world had been informed of this fact, but apparently not everyone paid attention.

"Is that was it is, then," said Moody with something like a roar. "I'll be danged. Well, nice to meet you, Harry." With this enigmatic statement, he moved off again, leaving Harry feeling somewhat unsettled.

By now, the music had gotten so loud, Harry almost couldn't hear himself think. The wash of sound filled the room, and he had trouble distinguishing voices or other sounds from within the tangle of noise that had spread through the room. He began to feel slightly disoriented, and the feeling made a slow knot of panic form in his stomach.

"Want to go out for a breath of air?" he asked Luna loudly.

"Yes, please," she said.

Harry led the way back out into the entrance hall, where the air seemed silent and cool in contrast to the crowded, noisy Great Hall. As if by mutual consent, though no words were exchanged, they sat side-by-side on the bottom step of the grand staircase.

Harry didn't know what to say, and the silence stretched between them, growing more and more awkward.

"Do you think…?" he began, but at the same moment, Luna spoke.

"Where were you?" she asked. "You weren't on the ship."

"Oh," Harry said. "I was…" He stopped, looking around. There was no movement near, the usual indication that people stood nearby. He listened, but heard no footsteps or fidgeting. "I found Professor O'Carolan," he said in a low, excited voice.

"That's nice," said Luna in her characteristically calm manner. "Where was he?"

"He was up in this… room," said Harry. "Off of one of the towers."

"Jamie said he would most likely be in a tower," offered Luna.

Harry smiled. "Yeah, her video games," he said.

"Why did you go looking there, right when it was time to leave?" asked Luna curiously.

"I didn't; I went to his office for a book," began Harry. "Bugger. I forgot it, too."

"So, you went for a book," prompted Luna.

"Oh, yeah, and I found this note in his office, and this little thing." Harry pulled the Hansel-And-Gretel out of his pocket where he'd slipped it after changing robes.

"What is that?" asked Luna, taking the arrow-shaped piece of metal out of his hands and turning it over in her fingers.

"It's this little gadget they sell in the Shop of Requirement in…" Harry explained, but Luna broke in.

"The Shop of Requirement?" she asked, handing him the metal triangle back.

"In Diagon Alley. I didn't know it was there either until last year. It's this shop that's only there if you need special stuff, like magnifiers or a white cane or something." Harry felt somewhat shy, explaining the shop to Luna, as if he was revealing a secret.

"Can I go there too?" she asked with interest. "I'm sure they have useful items for inventing new things, like the grimblesnatch I was making last summer."

"Err," said Harry, "I'm not sure you can see the Shop of Requirement. I guess you have to have a disability or something. I'm not sure how it works, exactly. Hagrid could see it when I was there with him."

"Will you take me sometime?" she asked.

"I guess so. Sure, why not?" he answered after a moment's pause.

"So you found that thing in his office…" Luna said, steering him back to his story.

"Yes, and it led me to where he was, or the wall outside where he was," Harry said.

"Is that what it does? Lead you to people?" she asked curiously.

"No, not usually. He'd fiddled with it, I think," said Harry.

"How did you rescue him?" she asked.

Harry felt suddenly at a loss. He hadn't told anyone but Ron and Hermione about Feliss, although of course Sirius and Lupin knew. Feliss was supposed to be a big secret, an ace in their hands that would be useful only if Voldemort did not know of his existence. Harry suddenly wondered just how many people walked around right under their noses, hidden from the world by a lifetime dedicated to being invisible.

"I-I-I'm not exactly sure," he said vaguely. "Somehow I got in to where he was, and then we were in Sirius's house."

"Sirius Black?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes, he's my godfather." Harry said this with pride.

"Oh yeah, I remember," she agreed. "That's good that you found him. He can help us fight You-Know-Who."

"Yeah," said Harry glumly. "Fight You-Know-Who."

"We'll have to, you know," said Luna seriously. "He can't be allowed to become powerful again."

"No," agreed Harry, but he felt suddenly tired and small.

As if sensing his sudden shift in mood, Luna patted his hand, which lay atop his knee. "You're not alone, you know," she said.

Harry gave her a tight-lipped smile. He didn't know whether that thought made him grateful, or more anxious.

"Harry! There you are!" shouted Ron from the doorway of the Great Hall. "I wondered where you'd gone."

"Sorry, mate," said Harry. "It was just a bit too loud in there."

Ron did not answer, and Harry, unable to read his face, felt a tingle of worry. Did Ron think he preferred Luna's company because she was an "exchanger" like him? Harry sighed. Life seemed so confusing and complicated, sometimes.

"Shall we go back in?" asked Luna, standing to her feet.

"Guess we'd better," said Harry ruefully. Maybe he could talk Ron round. He sighed and followed Luna toward the Great Hall.


	22. Chapter 22

All in all, Harry felt grateful when at last the Yule Ball ended. His head ached from the white light that seemed to sparkle everywhere in the Great Hall, and the constant sea of noise left him feeling disoriented and slightly dizzy. To his relief, Ron hadn't been upset at all, and chattered on about Hogwarts and spending Christmas at Grimmauld Place. Apparently, all of the Weasleys and Hermione had been invited to join Sirius and Remus in the old house. Harry knew the plans had been made for his pleasure, but the fact that they had all been made while he was away, without his even knowing, gave him an odd feeling.

His mood lifted somewhat the next morning. Sleeping once more in his bed in Gryffindor Tower felt so like home.

"What's the weather?” he asked Ron, standing at the window, as he had done so often last year.

"Whaaa," mumbled Ron, emerging from beneath the bedclothes.

Harry didn't press, and Ron rolled back over to resume his soft snoring. Harry stood at the window, eyes closed against the white light, picturing the scene before him. In his imagination, his view soared like an owl past the diamond window panes, and across the snow-covered grounds. He saw the dark line of the Forbidden Forest, and the spiky towers of the Quidditch pitch. He smiled to himself, and turned toward his trunk.

Three hours later, he held Hermione's elbow as they tramped through the powdered snow toward the Hogsmeade station and the Hogwarts Express. Snow drifted down upon them, and Harry savored the crystalline silence produced by the inaudible sound of each tiny flake as it fell. At that moment, there was no Voldemort, no exchange, no Carrows, or knitting class, or getting lost. There was only the warmth of friends and the beauty of a snowfall.

Thwack! Something soft, powdery, and shockingly cold hit Harry's ear and trickled down into his coat collar. Harry twisted around and was rewarded with another snowball directly in the face. He gasped, then began laughing.

"Oy!" he shouted, swiping the back of his sleeve across his face to clear away the snow.

"Harry, look out!" squealed Hermione, and Harry ducked, with the comical result that Hermione received the full force of the snowball intended for Harry.

Ron, stomping along on the far side of Hermione suddenly darted forward with a volley of his own, and Harry heard a yell from Fred (or was it George?) and the snowballs momentarily slowed. Harry took the opportunity to stoop and gather his own handful of snow and pack it into a snowy missile. He waited, listening, while Ron threw another one. He grinned as George (or was it Fred?) taunted, "Missed me, little brother!"

Concentrating, Harry aimed for the voice, and with a flick of his wrist, he let fly. He was soon rewarded with a shout and a "Bloody Hell!" from both of the twins.

"Where did that come from?" asked Fred in surprise, once he'd cleared the snow from his mouth.

Harry ducked his head and walked on, swinging his cane jauntily in front of him.

In no time, they reached the platform, and good-naturedly shoved their way onto the train, shaking snow off their robes, and stamping their boots. Harry, Ron, and Hermione found an empty compartment and flung themselves into the seats. Harry had no sooner seated himself, when something jumped onto his lap, making him yell with surprise. It turned out to be Crookshanks, and Hermione exclaimed with delight to see him. Harry patted his back a bit absently, thinking to himself that if Crookshanks had joined them for the train ride, they might be in more danger than Harry realized. He frowned slightly to himself.

In spite of his misgivings, they reached King's Cross without incident, although Harry had been secretly listening for anything amiss. Crookshanks, too, had not settled down into his usual sleepy ball, but had stayed awake and alert, his ears vertical under Harry's hand.

"Harry!" came the voice of Remus Lupin across the platform when Harry appeared in the doorway of the train car. He had paused, because the light, soft and suffused as it was across the snow-laden clouds, still seemed to glare off the snow with an intensity that made him flinch, and stop to catch his breath. His eyelids involuntarily closed against the pain, and he felt for the steps down with cane and toe, grateful for the training Lupin had insisted on giving him.

At the bottom of the steps, a hearty hug surprised him, but he soon recognized Sirius. Harry grinned at the strength that had finally returned to his godfather's arms, and he returned the hug.

"It's so good to see you," said Sirius, holding Harry at arm's length to look into his face. "Durmstrang hasn't done you any harm, it appears," he said with relief, as Harry tried to squint into the light to meet his gaze. With an arm around Harry's shoulders, he pushed through the crowd toward Lupin. Harry thought how great it felt to have a family to welcome him home, unlike his previous reunions with the Dursleys. They reached Lupin, who also gave Harry a hug.

"Welcome home, Harry," he said, with a warm smile in his voice.

It seemed no time at all before they all bundled into Grimmauld place, much to the dismay of old Mrs. Black, who shrieked her protests at the top of her voice. Harry took a moment to stow his cane in the troll-leg umbrella stand and run the back of his hands across his watering eyes, enjoying the relief of the dim, dusty front hallway after the brightness of the winter day outside.

As usual, they gathered in the basement kitchen. With a flick of his wand, Sirius lit a roaring fire in the big fireplace and slowly the room began to lose its chill. Harry sat at the long table with a glass of pumpkin juice, not even trying to wipe the sloppy grin off his face. A second voice at the end of the long table made him jump. He had not realized anyone else was there.

"And so we have Harry back safe and sound," said the voice, which turned out to belong to Professor O'Carolan.

"Professor!" said Harry, turning toward the old man. "Are you all right?"

"I'm a bit stiff and sore, lad," said O'Carolan in a voice still laced with fatigue, "but I'll be sorted after a few more good meals and some rest."

"We need to talk," said Sirius to Harry, sitting down at the table across from him. His voice held a warning note that made Harry cringe inside. He was saved, however, by the noise of the Weasleys arriving by floo powder. Harry kept his eyes trained on the tabletop, imagining the look in Sirius's eye that said "we'll finish this later." He had nearly forgotten that he had a lot of explaining to do.

Fred and George popped out of the fire first, tossing parcels onto the table and brushing soot from their clothes.

"Happy Christmas!" they said together, as Ron staggered out of the fireplace. He, too, threw parcels onto the table, the stack growing high enough that it effectively hid the fireplace from view entirely. Harry heard the voices of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley join the crowd, and then Ginny. Mrs. Weasley descended upon Harry, elbowing her way through the crowd.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," she said, giving him an awkward side-hug, as he was still seated. "I did not have a chance to greet you on the platform; your godfather swept you off so quickly."

Harry smiled up at her. "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Weasley," he said with a grin, enjoying her motherly embrace. She cleared her throat, as if swallowing tears, and Harry wondered what prompted those.

"Fred and George!" she scolded, after a few more sniffs. "Get those parcels off the table at once! I've brought our Christmas dinner, and we don't want it getting cold, now, do we?"

"Take them into the drawing room," suggested Sirius, and the twins cheerfully trooped upstairs with the boxes and bundles. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny busied themselves unwrapping an enormous Christmas goose, complete with all of the trimmings, as well as her traditional pudding. Harry rose to help dole out the plates.

At the end of the room, Professor O'Carolan stood slowly, still shrouded in shadows. He cleared his throat, and the activity in the room ceased as suddenly as if someone had cast a freezing charm.

"I'd like you all to meet Professor O'Carolan," said Harry, forcing his words into the awkward silence.

Mr. Weasley came forward at last. "Sir," he said almost reverently, "It's been a long time. Arthur Weasley, sir." He held out his hand, as Professor O'Carolan unsteadily did likewise, and the two men shook hands.

"You know each other?" asked Harry in surprise.

"It's been a few years," said O'Carolan lightly. "You were merely a schoolboy, Arthur."

Mr. Weasley looked at his protruding stomach ruefully. "A few years, yes," he said, but did not elaborate on the subject. Everyone else seemed to come back to life then, and the cutlery rattled as everyone helped to set the table. In no time, the Christmas dinner was set out, steaming, and making everyone's mouth water.

The twins returned, apparently buried deep in a discussion between themselves about whether they could dissect one of the shrunken House elf heads on the wall in the staircase. It reminded Harry that he had not heard from Kreacher yet, and he briefly wondered where the elf had hidden himself. He didn't have time to ponder it, because they were all sitting down to the festal board, and Lupin, in his quiet way, proposed a toast to the holiday and to good friends, which everyone boisterously joined.

Harry ate as much as he could hold, and listened to the warmth of the family that surrounded him. Although he saw nothing more than colorless blurred shapes, it seemed to him that he could see each face, so clearly was his mental picture of the cozy room. He found himself describing Durmstrang, telling about the Quidditch pitch that hung like an absurd nest on the side of the cliff above the ocean. He told about knitting class and about Adrian.

"You're mates with a Slytherin?" asked Ron in disbelief, as if announcing to the entire table what he himself had already learned at the Yule Ball.

"It doesn't matter so much there," Harry tried to explain, but he got the feeling that Ron wouldn't ever understand.

After dinner, they all moved en masse to the drawing room. Mrs. Weasley, predictably, tut-tutted about the state of the curtains, but she didn't have time to say much more before they were all diving into the pile of gifts. For a while, the room was a tangled pile of brown paper. Exclamations of delight came from all corners, as they discovered new treasures. Harry received a new jumper from Mrs. Weasley and her ever-industrious knitting needles, a box of chocolate frogs from Hermione, a tea cozy which presumably came from Dobby, since he couldn't make out the note on the outside of the package.

At last, the bedlam began to settle down, and Ron suggested a game of exploding Snap. Harry smiled, remembering the doomed game they had played last year at Christmastime. Again, they sat in front of the fire, but this time, Harry managed to keep a hold on all of his cards, and even won several hands.

Harry finally excused himself from the game. Although he tried to take part in the festivities, he felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. He needed to talk to Sirius and Lupin. Professor O'Carolan had told them what was going on, of course, and Harry feared what they would say to him when everyone had gone and the party was done. He found that he couldn't let go and properly enjoy himself with the unfinished conversation hanging over his head, and he wished for once that the lighthearted banter would cease. He felt, too, the dread of the knowledge that he held, that Lord Voldemort had returned and that things were soon to change forever.


	23. Chapter 23

"Why didn't you tell us?"

The question came from Ron. All of the Weasleys, Hermione, Sirius, Lupin, Professor O'Carolan, and Feliss Eliot sat around the old trestle table in the low, dim, Grimmauld Place kitchen. Almost everyone held a steaming mug, and Harry took a long sip of his spiced cider before he answered.

"Well," he began, feeling awkward, but before he could answer, Lupin broke in.

"At this point, it doesn't matter what Harry's reasons were for not telling us. He's told us now, and we need to decide what to do."

Harry let out the breath that he'd drawn to speak. It came out in a relieved sigh instead, and he took another drink from his mug.

"We're your family," put in Sirius, not ready to let the matter drop just yet. "You should have…" 

He stopped, and Harry wondered if Lupin had shot him a look. Harry didn't know why Lupin had taken his side in defending him, but he wasn't about to complain.

"The point is," continued Lupin, with a slight edge to his words, "We're here to talk about what to do next. We have more information than You-Know-Who, so we have the upper hand."

"We need Dumbledore here," said Sirius in a somewhat grumpy tone, as if resenting Lupin taking the lead in his discussion.

"Yes, and Moody and Shacklebolt," said O'Carolan from the far corner of the table, where he'd been sitting so quietly Harry had wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

"And Tonks," said Lupin with a smile, but then continued in a louder voice, "but they are not here right now, and gathering them will take time and draw attention. We need to talk about what to do."

"Let's have the facts, then," said Mr. Weasley. "Some of us don't know the whole story."

Lupin gave the story without delay. "Some weeks ago, Harry stumbled upon You-Know-Who in a graveyard near Durmstrang Castle. He'd been resurrected by Pettigrew…"

"That foul little rat," muttered Feliss.

"…and was able to capture Harry and tempt him with an offer of magical sight restoration if Harry would act as spy and traitor for him." Lupin finished, as though he hadn't heard Feliss.

"He didn't tell us!" burst out Sirius, unable to contain himself longer. "We visited, and Harry never breathed a word!"

Harry hung his head. "You don't understand," he said under his breath.

"As things stand now," said Lupin, "You-Know-Who is not aware that Harry has come to us, and he will most likely be contacting Harry soon. The Carrows," he spat the name, "will by now surely have discovered the disappearance of their prisoner…"

Again, he was interrupted, this time by Professor O'Carolan. "I should never have allowed myself to be captured in that manner. I'm getting old."

Silence followed this statement.

Lupin finally resumed talking. "If we're to move against You-Know-Who, the time is now, before he has time to re-establish himself."

"And how do you propose to do that?" asked Mr. Weasley testily. "We don't know where he is or what he's doing."

"Harry will know," said Lupin mildly, but Mrs. Weasley and Feliss leapt to their feet.

"You don't propose to use the boy as bait?" asked Feliss angrily.

Mrs. Weasley seemed equally indignant. "Protecting Harry is our first priority! He's had enough to deal with already."

This made Harry squirm. "If I can help," he began, but Mrs. Weasley cut him off.

"You're just a child still," she said. And now with your… uhh… impairment…"

Anger rose in Harry at the insinuation that he was less than capable. "That's not…"

Feliss interrupted. "Your abilities aside, Harry, the idea is absurd. Using a mere child against the most powerful…"

Lupin's voice rose too. "He'll be fine! He's perfectly able to…"

"And what if something goes wrong?" snarled Sirius.

"You have not even heard the entirety of my plan, yet," said Lupin sulkily.

"I think you ought to listen." Professor O'Carolan's voice was mild, but the underlying steel edge of authority that had cowed decades of restless students now made the others sit down, their protests dying away.

"Thank you," said Lupin icily. "As I was saying, Harry can help us in this. He needn't do anything more than return to Durmstrang and pretend we've never spoken about this. If and when You-Know-Who contacts him, he can send word."

"What is he supposed to tell You-Know-Who?" asked George, voicing the thought that Harry had also had.

"That's the beauty of it," answered Lupin. "We can feed false information…"

Again Sirius interrupted. "That's far too dangerous. You-Know-Who is not an idiot, whatever else he may be. He has ways of verifying the truth of anything Harry might tell him. When he discovers that Harry is lying, who knows what he might do."

Again, everyone was silent for a few moments. Harry felt his stomach clench.

"Would you have us do nothing?" asked Lupin finally. "What will he do to Harry when he rises to power and we've all been hunted down and killed?"

The silence grew heavier.

"Harry, what do you think?" asked Feliss. "Can you do this?"

Harry considered. For years, he had poured his energy into avoiding Voldemort. Could he now play this dangerous game, seeking him out on purpose in order to draw him close enough to stop his plans? What would Voldemort do to him if something went awry? The idea made his heart race, and his palms grew sweaty. The others waited, and for a few minutes, the only sound was the ticking of the clock and the crackling of the fire.

"I-I think so," he finally ventured, pushing away the thought that something might go wrong. He trusted his friends, his family. They would never let him be captured or tortured. They could save hundreds of lives if they could find and stop Voldemort quickly. Of that he had no doubt. Voldemort had every intention of regaining his former power as quickly as possible, even if it meant cutting down anyone who stood in his way.

The idea of placing himself there, directly in the path of the Dark Lord, made Harry shiver. But he had to admit to himself that it was a good idea. Voldemort himself had inadvertently given them this chance in trying to turn Harry, and even now, Harry knew the offer still tempted him. What if Lupin was wrong and Voldemort hadn't been bluffing? What if he really could restore Harry's sight? What if Harry's parents were alive again? Not a godfather, but a mother who loved him? Harry swallowed hard.

"I still don't like it," said Sirius at last. "I don't like it at all."

"The best thing for Harry to do," said Lupin, still ignoring Sirius, "is to go back to school as if nothing had ever happened. We might even remove the memory of his visit here…"

"Oh, Remus," said Mrs. Weasley reproachfully.

"Desperate measures, Molly dear," said her husband thoughtfully. "Harry would have a much easier time of it if he truly believes he was never here and never told us at all."

Sadness welled up inside Harry. Giving up this precious time, however small, seemed a high price to pay. Yet times were indeed desperate, and the Dark Lord had returned.

"What can we do?" asked Fred. "We want to help, too."

"You could stay out of trouble for a start," began their mother, but Mr. Weasley spoke up.

"You'll have a part to play before this is all done, lads," he said with a touch of the prophetic in his voice.

"We'd better get Harry back to school as quickly as possible. The less he knows of our plans, the better," said O'Carolan, and Harry glumly nodded.

Ron and Hermione offered to accompany Harry back to Hogwarts to spend the rest of the Christmas holiday before returning to Durmstrang. It was decided that someone would replace his memories just before he left Hogwarts so that he could then convincingly act his part of turncoat to the Dark Lord.

After this was decided, there was a general bustle and hugs were exchanged all around. Harry wished he could stay and hear the rest of the plans, but he understood why he must not. Instead, he bid farewell to the Weasleys and his godfather, and with dragging steps, he went upstairs to pack his trunk.

It seemed like no time at all that he, Ron and Hermione were all seated around the fire in the Hogwarts Common Room, but this time the castle sounded eerily empty and echoing to Harry, when compared with the snug warmth of the low-ceilinged kitchen where he'd so recently sipped cider.

Ron and Hermione tried vainly to make conversation, and once, Ron even suggested a game of wizard's chess. Harry couldn't make himself join in their banter, even though he knew it was done for his sake. The enormity of what he'd just agreed to do weighed on him, and though he wouldn't admit it, even to himself, fear had lodged itself in his gut like an uneasy dinner that would not settle.

"I think I'll go for a bit of a walk," he told the others.

"Are you sure?" asked Hermione. "Is it safe?"

"This is Hogwarts!" scoffed Ron. Of course he's still safe as long as he's here."

Grateful for his friend's support, Harry got to his feet and reached for his white stick, unfolding it with a snap. With practiced ease, he made his way through the common room door, and out into the empty Hogwarts corridor.

Suddenly, he was glad to be alone, glad to be away from Hermione's suffocating worry, and Ron's too-bright nonchalance. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, to realize the impact of what he'd done, and to face the terror of having the first holiday he'd ever had with his new family taken from his memory, and replaced with cold deceit and rejection. He felt dark thoughts beginning to overtake him already, and he thought again about the parents he'd lost that Voldemort had promised to restore to him.

He followed the familiar path through the castle and down the stairs until he was in the Entrance Hall, and without thinking, he opened the front door, letting the cold wind, the sharp glare from the snow and the fresh, outdoorsy smell wash over him, blowing his hair back. Eyes closed, he took a step forward, through the door of the castle. Another gust of wind swirled his robes around him, and suddenly, as if in a trance, he walked down the front steps and began following the curving path toward the tall, iron gates.

Harry wondered if something had suddenly taken hold of his mind and drew him inexorably onward. Surely they had not changed his memories yet? No, they were all still there, the sounds of the twins' laughter as they opened their gifts, the pressure of Sirius's hand on his shoulder, the gentle bickering of Ron and Hermione as they sat on the hearth rug in front of the fire at Grimmauld Place.

Yet he felt a distance from them as he shuffled through the powdery snow and approached the gate. A little warning sounded in his mind that he ought not to go outside of those gates alone, but he could not stop himself. A force outside himself seemed to lift his hand to open the gates, and found the latch without fumbling.

He stepped out onto the road, and fell forward as if into a dark, empty hole, spinning and twisting, the force of whatever was pulling on him deep coming from deep within himself, a desire he didn't know he had to be wherever it was he was supposed to be.

He arrived with a snap. Someone had apparated him, of course, without his knowledge or consent. He stood, breathless, in a room, a chill room, and dim, but not the cozy dimness of the kitchen. This was a dimness as if light had simply been forbidden to shine.

"Hello, Harry," came a soft voice from his right. Voldemort's voice.

"No," Harry gasped, "No, it's too soon."

"Too soon for what?" hissed the voice. "It's the perfect time. It's time you and I had a chat, Harry."


	24. Chapter 24

Harry stood still, frozen, tense and waiting. He wondered if Voldemort could hear the wild beating of his heart, loud in his own ears. No! his mind screamed. It's too soon!

"Do you have anything for me?" asked Voldemort in a low voice, as if he conferred with a fellow conspirator.

For a moment, Harry felt confused. He'd expected an immediate curse, had braced himself for the pain of Cruciatus, or worse, the green light and… For a second, he wondered if he'd heard right. What did Voldemort mean? Then it hit him. Voldemort did not know. Somehow, through sheer luck or good timing or the stupidity of the Death Eaters, Voldemort didn't realize that Harry had not turned traitor. Harry clawed frantically through his memory searching for words to hand to Voldemort, to weave a net of safety around himself and his friends. Voldemort must have assumed that his offer to Harry was irresistible, Harry thought. Somehow, he must not have realized it was Harry who had rescued O'Carolan. Harry could hardly believe it was possible, and yet here he was, whispering secret words to Harry, rather than cursing him.

And then, like a rush of cold water, Voldemort entered Harry's mind. Harry knew it happened this time, powerless to stop it. Harry had only a moment to cover his confusion. He could not hide his fear and doubt from the mind that searched his own. He was naked before the Dark Lord, and in another moment Voldemort would know everything. Desperately, Harry did the only thing he could think of. He imagined his parents. With his entire mind, he pictured them hugging him, laughing, congratulating him on his quidditch wins.

The distraction worked. Voldemort let out his breath in a slow hiss, and like a whip crack, he withdrew from Harry's mind. "Yes," he said with satisfaction. You want to see them, don't you?"

Harry nodded.

"And you want this," continued Voldemort. As he said it, Harry's head jerked. Once again, he was looking out through Voldemort's eyes. The rush of color assaulted Harry's brain like the sudden noise of a rock track with the volume turned on maximum. He fought to keep from retching. This time, instead of the darkness of the night and woodland glade, the room was well-lit. Reds and greens, blues and purples and creamy white all flew into Harry's brain at once in a kaleidoscope of nauseating color. Harry wondered if he was going to be sick after all. It was too much after months of his brain relaxing into the blurry grey nothingness and sound-rich world he'd inhabited.

Just as suddenly as the wash of sensation had raped his brain, it was gone. He was left breathing hard, and squinting through his own eyes, reeling from the dizzying experience.

"Yes," Voldemort said, as if to himself. "You want that." It wasn't a question.

A small thought slithered into Harry's mind that maybe he didn't want that. So new and tiny in its newborn existence, the thought startled him with its entering his head at all. Of course, he'd want to see if he could, right? Well, unless the price was too high, of course. Until this moment, the price had been in terms of his friends, of giving them up to the Dark Lord, of becoming a Death Eater, of having to kill and main and hurt. Now, it occurred to him that there might be other prices to pay as well.

No matter. He'd already made up his mind.

Unbidden, the image of his parents floated into his mind again. Could Voldemort bring them back? It was a high price to pay, truly. Maybe, just maybe it was worth it?

Harry suddenly became aware of the silence in the room. It hung awkwardly in the air, trailing after Voldemort's question.

"Err..." Harry stuttered. "Err, have something?"

"News. Your decision. I won't wait forever," Voldemort said impatiently.

Harry's brain spun. This was it. He must be believable now or everything was lost. He suddenly realized what a terrible risk he'd taken, that they all had taken. His job was to lie to the most evil wizard in a century, one known for his ability to sniff out treachery in his followers. The thing was ridiculous. He'd never be able to do it. He stalled. "You can really bring back my parents?" he asked timidly.

"Foolish boy!" hissed Voldemort angrily. "You doubt my power?"

"Err.. of course not," said Harry hastily. "I just..."

"You waver," stated Voldemort coldly. "Most unwise. I do not want weak followers."

Harry thought of Snape, and then of Natalia. No, he thought. You don't.

Harry's mind raced. His hand hovered near his wand. Part of him wanted desperately to draw it, to aim it and speak words that would hurt the terrible enemy in front of him. He thought miserably of his friends, waiting back at Grimmauld Place, of his godfather, the only family he had left. He thought of the years ahead, stretching into the future, dark and obscured with the smoke of evil and suffering. And he made up his mind what to do.

"Yes," he said, holding out his right arm. "I've decided. I'm ready."

He did not know what he expected, but it wasn't the slow, soft laughter that emanated from the robed figure standing before him. Voldemort turned, and paced slowly to the armchair near the fire, settling himself with a whisper of clothing and a sigh. Harry was left standing there, just behind and to the left of the chair, a pawn on an invisible chessboard, vulnerable and frightened.

"You aren't ready, boy," said Voldemort matter-of-factly.

"But," began Harry, but Voldemort continued as if he'd not spoken.

"You desire something from me, but you do not desire what I can really give you," he said.

Filled with relief that his arm had yet to bear the dreaded Dark Mark, Harry waited. Was he going to have to prove his loyalty? Would there be some sort of dreadful test to pass?

"You have not decided, not really. You don't want to serve me," continued Voldemort.

Harry nearly agreed in his thoughts, but forced himself not even to think the words. Again, he forced himself to think about his parents and how much he really did want to see them. Tears came to his eyes as despair and grief pricked him once again, deep inside.

Harry heard a small rustle, nothing more. He could not have seen it coming, even if he was looking. One short word. Too short to even react to: "Caeco!" And that was it. There was no flash, no noise. A silent switch had been flicked off and the world went absolutely dark. Not black. No, it was simply nothing. If Harry had waved his hand behind his head, it would have looked the same as if he now waved it in front of his face.

Harry was too stunned to even react. He stayed frozen. He knew better then to ask if the lights in the room had been turned off, or if this was temporary, like Remus Lupin's lesson. He'd heard the word, heard the curse. The blinding curse.

There was no more grey. No more too-bright light. Closing his eyes and opening them slowly made absolutely no difference. The floor began to feel as though it tilted, his lack of a visual reference sliding him off-balance and into a whirlpool of dizzy nothingness. Involuntarily, Harry planted his feet wider, fighting not to fall as the floor seemed to slant farther. He wondered if it was really moving or if his mind was playing tricks on him.

"What?" he asked feebly. "Why?"

Voldemort's tone held steel in it now, the sound of an angry parent disciplining a naughty child. "You don't get what you want if you don't give me what I ask."

"But," Harry protested. "I..."

"...did not come to me," finished Voldemort smoothly. "You waited. You took too much time, having fun with your little friends..."

"You said you'd come to me," protested Harry quickly, but immediately regretted his words. The Cruciatus curse ripped through his body, singing along his nerves as he writhed on the floor. Time slowed as the world exploded with pain, until, at last, it stopped, and he could do nothing but gasp for the air that had been crushed from his lungs.

"Please," he gasped, when he could.

"Take him." Voldemort's voice sounded bored.

Strong hands from people Harry hadn't heard enter the room grasped him firmly under his arms. They half-carried, half-dragged him through a door and down a hallway. Every movement was agony, as Harry's muscles remembered their recent torment.

Harry was hauled down several flights of stairs, his captors awkwardly squeezing him between themselves to fit down the last, narrow flight. They stopped; another door opened. The hands fished his wand from his pocket, shoved Harry roughly inside a room, and slammed the door shut behind him. He stumbled forward, his hands outstretched. In his mind, the room was dark, like the emptiness he saw. He felt numb, his body aching from the curse, his brain unable to process what had just happened.

He regained his footing and stood still for a minute, listening. Silence. No noise of breathing, no rustle of fabric. He was alone. He let out the breath he was holding, and the tenseness in his shoulders relaxed slightly; his solitude seemed a respite from facing an unknown someone, be it friend or foe.

Blinking his eyes against the utter nothingness, he stood with feet slightly apart, fighting the dizziness that once again threatened to spill him sideways onto the floor. His breath sounded loud in his ears.

Harry shivered in the chilly air. Combined with the number of stairs he'd been carried down, he guessed he was in a basement. The dank, closed-up smell seemed to confirm this. Harry turned toward the door behind him, and placed his hand on painted wood. In a gesture born of practice, his hands brushed across the door in a sweeping arc to find the knob. It was cold metal, and would not turn in his hand.

He turned again, and leaned his back against the door, his eyes closed. In despair, he slid down the door until he sat on the floor at its base, his knees drawn up to his chest.

What was he going to do now? He was sitting in a dank basement, locked behind a door, wandless and totally blind. Suddenly, it seemed like the sight he'd previously thought so frustratingly poor was glorious. With it, he'd been able to determine the time of day, tell if there was a window in the room, find people-shapes, see movement and contrast and light. Now there was nothing. He clenched his teeth.

The knot in the pit of his stomach, oddly, reminded him of his lessons with Lupin. He'd hated those hours in the dark room, learning to listen, learning to aim his wand or to feel minute details between objects, or practicing Braille. Although he'd reluctantly gone along with the training, he'd never embraced those terrifying days in complete blackness.

Now, he made a mental note to thank Professor Lupin for them. Although the nothingness before Harry terrified him just as the dark had done, it didn't disorient him as much as it might have once. Although the floor still felt sloped as his brain searched for a horizon, he knew that placing his hands flat on the floor beside himself and taking a few deep breaths would soon set the floor straight again.

He knew too, that if he concentrated, he could hear roughly the size and shape of the room he was in. Later, he would explore it, looking for windows, doors, cracks, tools, something he could use. For now, he simply sat, listening to the silence, thinking about Lupin and about how much his body ached. He tried not to think beyond those things, tried not to face the realization that he was a prisoner of the Dark Lord, and that he would likely never see light again.


	25. Chapter 25

Wrapping his arms around his legs, Harry rested his chin on his knees. The floor felt hard and cold underneath him; probably bare cement or stone. In a way, the common, non-magical feel of the floor comforted him, bleak though it was.

At last, after a long time, he stood. For a moment, he felt shaky and weak. His nerves still remembered the fire that shot along them as the Cruciatus curse hit them. The cold air did nothing to relieve the pain, but made him even stiffer. He stood for a moment, stretching.

"Feeling better?" The voice made Harry jump, and he caught a gasp of surprise in his throat. He was so sure he was alone. There had been no sound, no breathing, not even that sense of another person in the room. His skin prickled at the feeling of being watched without knowing.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" he said angrily.

"I thought you saw me," said the Voice carelessly. It sounded neither old nor young, neither male nor female. It was just a voice. Harry tried to tell if it belonged to an elf or goblin, possibly, but couldn't hear anything telltale.

Harry let out the indrawn breath with a frustrated sigh. "No," he said shortly. "I didn't."

"You must have really pissed him off," said the Voice with a sardonic hint of amusement.

"If I'd really pissed him off, I'd be dead," replied Harry.

"Not if he thinks he can use you," said the Voice practically.

Harry considered this. He'd assumed that the next time he saw Voldemort, he'd be dead before he could blink. As long as he could remember, he was on the top of Voldemort's hit list. The fact that he was still alive at the moment puzzled him.

"Use me?" he asked wearily.

"Use you," repeated the Voice. "To get at your friends, or Dumbledore, or something. He's practical, you know."

Yeah, Harry knew.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

The only reply was a snort of derision.

For a long minute, Harry stood silently. He'd planned to explore the space in which he'd been held prisoner, but suddenly he felt self-conscious about doing it in front of this unknown watcher.

He'd gotten a lot more used to doing what needed to be done regardless of who was watching, but this seemed so intimate, so frightening. This person could be anyone, could be dangerous. He (She?) could be there is spy on Harry or guard him. Or he (she?) could be simply a fellow prisoner.

Harry slid back to the floor again.

"Want to get out of here?" the Voice said after a long silence.

Harry almost snorted with laughter himself. If that wasn't painfully obvious by now, his companion was an idiot.

"Do you still have your wand?" asked the Voice hopefully.

"No," said Harry ruefully. He wished he'd fought harder when the Death Eaters had carried him down, Cruciatus curse or not. Having his wand right now would be really useful. He felt odd without it, as if he had lost a few of his fingers. He also didn't have his stick. Another useful tool. He sighed, then he frowned. "How did I not know you were there earlier?" he asked.

The Voice did not answer, and the silence roared in Harry's ears. He listened as hard as he could, but again, no sound of breathing, and no rustle of fabric. He wondered if the Voice had apparated out of the room.

"Are you still here?" he asked cautiously.

"Of course I am," said the Voice irritably, and Harry jumped. He decided to quit worrying about how the Voice managed to be so quiet. It occurred to him that the Voice definitely sounded male. Human too, and not the squeaky voices of House Elves or the gravelly voices of goblins.

"Can you please tell me your name, at least?" Harry asked with an edge of exasperation in his voice.

"Call me Mack," said the Voice succinctly, without volunteering more information.

"Are you a prisoner too?" asked Harry wondering if a common enemy might result in an ally.

"Yes, but not for long," said Mack cryptically.

"What does that mean?" asked Harry.

"I'm going to get out of here," replied Mack.

"How?" asked Harry.

"I'll think of something," said Mack vaguely.

"Want some help?" Harry offered. Anything was better than sitting here on the cold floor.

"You're blind," stated Mack, as if that answered the issue entirely. Harry rolled his eyes. This, at least, he knew how to answer.

"Just because I can't…" he began, but Mack cut him off.

"I'm just taking the piss," he said with a chuckle. "You can help, of course."

Harry felt taken aback. He wasn't used to other people joking about blindness. Avoiding the issue, yes. Shuffling or hesitating, usually. Joking, no. He grinned. He hoped this Mack character was a friend because he began to like him.

"Have you been here long?" Harry asked. He'd only been in this room a few minutes and it had begun to feel like an eternity.

"The less you know about me, the better, Harry Potter, so stop asking questions," said Mack sourly.

Harry was used to people knowing who he was. Being at such a disadvantage for information, however, frustrated him, and just as suddenly as he had begun to like Mack, he disliked him and hoped that they could manage to escape and part ways, the sooner the better.

"I've been here long enough," added Mack grimly. "Long enough to know that this little window has a spell over it, and that the walls are all stone."

That answered Harry's question about the window.

"Is it night?" he asked.

"Almost," said Mack. "And they haven't given me any other light in here, either. The good thing is, they almost never check on me, err… us. Shoving you in here is the first time I've seen anyone for quite a while."

Harry considered this. If they seldom checked, it might be easier to get away without being followed. If they could find a way out. He pushed himself to his feet with a slight groan. It suddenly occurred to him how tired he felt. He wondered if there was anything to sleep on.

"Where's the window?" he asked.

"Over here," said Mack from across the room. Harry judged the room to be small, maybe five metres square with a low ceiling. There seemed to be things stacked here and there along the walls, and rather than walking straight toward Mack, he followed the wall to the right, past the door hinges, to the corner, and down the sidewall. He still felt a little awkward, knowing that Mack's eyes followed him, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he wanted to know what was there.

His hands found a stack of wooden shelves, rough with age and soft with dust. On them seemed to be bottles and jars reminiscent of the Potions classroom at Hogwarts. Lower ones held rough sacks, full of something grainy and stacked several deep. He followed the shelves along until he found the back wall. Turning, he tripped over several wooden crates. Gritting his teeth and wishing Mack would offer some helpful guidance, he at last found the window, grimy glass held into the stone wall with an old wooden frame. He felt its perimeter for a catch, and when he found it, he tugged. It wouldn't budge.

He continued his circuit of the room, and as he reached the opposite wall of shelves, Mack stood and joined him, standing in front of them. He sounded shorter than Harry himself, and Harry wondered if he was wrong about the goblin guess.

"The walls are all stone," Mack repeated. "Checked those already. Window's painted shut. Shelves all have food, and a few potion ingredients. Dusty buggers. Looks like nothing's been touched for a few centuries."

Harry stood with both hands on the shelf in front of him, thinking. If Mack had already knocked on the walls, there was no use trying that again.

"A vent?" he asked.

"Nothing on the ceiling," said Mack. "Beams, and boards."

Harry turned back toward the window, tripping again over a crate. It was empty, and skittered across the floor. "Bugger," he said, rubbing his toe on the back of the other leg.

"There is a grate here," said Mack, hurrying over to the corner where the crate had been, and shifting the one behind it. That one was full, and he grunted as he lifted it. He and Harry both squatted on the floor, Harry extending a hand to sweep curious fingers over the grate. About half a metre square, it was made of heavy metal with horizontal bars, evidently covering a drain in the floor. It was wider than it was long, and a chilly draught of air rose from it.

Although Harry suspected that it would be charmed shut, to his surprise, when he and Mack tugged on it, it lifted easily, leaving an open hole under it. Beside him, he felt Mack bend over the hole, peering into it.

"No light, dammit," Mack muttered, sitting back on his heels. Without their wands, and with the daylight gone, the hole was as dark to Mack as it was to Harry.

With a shudder, Harry extended his arm into the hole, sweeping it back and forth, but aside from a couple of filmy cobwebs, the square hole seemed to be deeper than he could reach. "Still, there is air," he said hopefully. And the smell of sewage, he thought. He didn't relish a climb into that hole.

Mack rose and began rummaging on the shelf behind them again. Harry heard him clinking jars and bottles.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, rising to stand beside Mack.

"Light," said Mack shortly, continuing to shuffle through the shelf. "Here, hold this," he said, and when Harry held out his hand, he stuffed a wad of burlap and a shallow glass jar into it. He added to the pile a metal table knife and another jar, this time earthenware.

"Put those over there," he ordered, by Harry stood still, unsure of where "over there" was.

"On the crates," Mack said crossly, and Harry obediently edged his way toward the crates under the window, feeling for them with one toe, since his hands were full. He heard Mack feeling around on the floor. Then came a crash, and a curse. Harry grinned to himself. Apparently, it had grown very dark. He set down the items Mack had given him and sat beside them on the crate.

In the hours since his sight had been ripped from him, Harry had hardly had time to think about it, he was so focused on deciding if he was still in danger and wanting to get as far from Voldemort as possible. Obviously, Voldemort had set up his headquarters in some Muggle house, and Harry was being held captive in its stone cellar. Who Mack was, Harry had no idea, but if he was going to help Harry escape, Harry didn't much care. At least the floor had stopped tilting. Harry supposed he was getting used to a complete lack of vision, which would have terrified him had he stopped to think about it. As it was, he rather enjoyed the relief from the searing pain of the light sensitivity that had followed him for the past eighteen months, and he called into use every technique for coping without sight that Lupin had taught him. Now, he used fingertips to explore the earthenware jar that Mack had given him. It was tightly sealed with wax, but he worked at it with the knife, and finally broke the seal. Sniffing the contents and touching it with a hesitant finger, he determined that the jar held lard.

"Put some in the dish," said Mack, joining him on the bench, and ruefully rubbing his head where he'd bashed it. He set something with a clunk onto the crate beside Harry, who brushed it with the back of his hand as he searched for the bowl. It seemed to be some sort of rock, taken from the crumbling mortar of the wall.

With the knife, Harry scraped a glob of the lard and plopped it into the bowl. It stank. "More?" he asked, and with Mack's affirmative, he added another glob.

Mack, meanwhile, was ripping the burlap. Dust flew, and Harry sneezed. With Harry still holding the bowl, Mack took the burlap strip he'd ripped and pushed it gingerly into the rancid lard. He then removed the bowl from Harry's grip and set it carefully on the stone floor. Taking the rock and steel knife, he sat himself next to the bowl.

Still sitting on the crate, Harry heard a scraping sound that ended with a ringing of metal. Mack scraped the knife against the rock over and over, sometimes harder, and sometimes more lightly. Nothing happened.

Mack cursed and shifted position on the hard floor.

For a long time, Harry heard nothing but scraping of stone on metal and an occasional curse.

"What are you doing?" he asked, but when he got no answer, and the string of oaths increased, he decided it might be more prudent to simply wait.

Scrape. Scrape. Hiss… "Got it!" cried Mack joyfully, and rose again to join Harry. "I did it!"

Harry was at a complete loss. "Did what?" he asked in bewilderment.

"Made a light!" Mack set the bowl carefully beside Harry on the crate. Now, he could feel the warmth of flame. It dawned on him what Mack was doing. Using the burlap as a wick and the lard for fuel, Mack had made a sort of oil candle.

"How did you do that?" he asked, amazed.

"Flint," said Mack happily, setting the rock in Harry's hand. "These walls are full of it."

Harry felt the rock again. It felt like an ordinary rock, weighing in his palm, and he was astounded that Mack could use it to light the wick.

Mack was already peering into the hole, lowering his makeshift light as he did so.

"It's not deep at all," he reported at last. "We can get down that and into the sewer tunnel."

Fantastic, thought Harry wryly.

Mack wasted no time squeezing himself feet-first into the square hole. Harry heard a muted splash and a grunt. He hurried to the hole himself.

"I'm down!" Mack called in a stage whisper. "Come on. It's not far. I've brought the light."

Like that will help, thought Harry. But he nevertheless sat on the edge of the hole with feet dangling. For a moment, he did not know if he had the courage to drop into the tight space, but the thought of returning to Voldemort quickly hardened his resolve. He pulled the grate close to the hole, and as he lowered himself into the space, he pulled it back over himself. Hanging by his fingertips, with knees wedged against the sides of the hole, he once again wavered. Then, drawing a deep breath, he let go.

The drop was shorter than he'd expected, and he dropped into shin-deep liquid with a jolt. The sewer tunnel, a long, echoing arched space, was barely tall enough to stand in, with a level floor. He could hear Mack already following the flow of the water along the tunnel.

Harry's stomach twisted. He felt trapped in the tunnel, but there was nothing to do by follow Mack and find the way out. Mack moved fairly quickly, and Harry followed as well as he could, trailing his right hand along the wall, his left held in front of his head to warn him of pipes or overhangs that he might hit. He remembered Lupin teaching him this method, and his feeling of scorn when he was told to do this, but now he gratefully used the technique, glad to know he wasn't likely to gain a black eye into the bargain.

"Here," said Mack's voice, and the sound bounced in fading echoes around the tunnel, like so many accompanying ghosts. 

"Yes, indeed," said Mack to himself.

"What is it?" asked Harry, coming up to him.

"The way out," said Mack.


	26. Chapter 26

The tunnel ended in an arched aqueduct that flowed into one of the country streams that riddled the landscape. Harry and Mack splashed their way out into the quiet night, and Harry drew a long, grateful breath of clean, cold air.

"That was not good," said Mack half to himself, as Harry, stumbling over the sill of the aqueduct, joined him, standing knee-deep in the shallow, noisy, icy stream.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, pausing to right himself and catch his breath. "That was great!"

"It was too easy," said Mack.

"Oh," said Harry, crestfallen.

"Something is very wrong," said Mack gloomily.

Harry did not answer. His attention was focused on picking his way out of the freezing water, bent double, feeling his way onto the bank, slipping on half-frozen mud, and tangled grasses. He stopped when he found himself in a bush.

Mack followed him out of the stream, weaving a path around the clump of bushes.

"Nothing to do but go on, though," he said. "Want a hand?"

Without waiting for an answer, he took Harry's elbow, pulling him away from the bush. Harry followed, but once he was free of the clawing branches, he stopped, and showed Mack the proper way to do sighted lead, with him holding Mack's arm just above the elbow. Following half a step behind Mack, they crossed the rough ground of the field.

A feeling of dread grew upon Harry as they walked, their wet shoes squelching through the tall grass. He felt so exposed, walking through the darkness, neither with a wand. At any moment he expected an unknown enemy to jump out and grab them. He knew Mack had doused his little homemade light, but he did not know whether there was a moon or much ambient light, although Mack moved with assurance and did not stumble, eventually climbing a stone fence and emerging onto a lane.

"Do you know where we are?" asked Harry.

"Not exactly," replied Mack in a low voice. "We're quite a way from the house by now, and that's well enough."

"Are they following us?" panted Harry, as Mack picked up his pace in the rutted lane. In spite of his hold on Mack's arm, he kept stumbling on the uneven ground and loose rocks. Fear made him want to hurry, however, and he was glad Mack did not slow down for him. In fact, Mack seemed in a bigger hurry than Harry himself, and Harry wondered vaguely if there was something Mack wasn't telling him.

Mack looked back over his shoulder, and replied in the negative. "It bothers me," he said. "We got away far too easily."

"What does it mean?" asked Harry fearfully.

"Not sure. A setup, maybe. Or Voldemort is distracted by something."

Harry noticed that Mack said Voldemort, as he did, and not You-Know-Who as most others did.

It seemed hours that they hurried down the uneven lane, guided on either side by the stone fences of which Harry was only vaguely aware. His body still ached, and he was beginning to feel tired and hungry. As time went on and his fear lessened, the fatigue grew.

At last, they reached a paved road, and Mack turned right to follow it. Harry hoped a car would pass soon, so they could ask for help. His shoes had begun to dry, stiff and crusted, and he hated to think what might be on them. The December night grew colder, and even Harry's jumper couldn't keep out the chill. He was grateful that there was no snow.

"I know where we are," said Mack suddenly.

"It must be a long way into the country," said Harry. "No cars."

"I don't think there are many Muggles that live here," said Mack. "We're not too far from Godric's Hollow, actually, near a village named Tripheath."

"How do you know that?" asked Harry curiously.

"Saw a sign," said Mack shortly.

They hurried on, Harry falling into a dazed rhythm, following along in the dark nothingness. He could hear the silent trees of a wood on their right, but the left side of the road sounded more open. He still hadn't heard a car.

"This will do nicely," Mack muttered to himself. To Harry he said, "I've a friend in Tripheath. Old classmate, actually. Hogwarts."

At the thought of help, Harry nearly fainted with relief. Food and a place to lie down dominated his thoughts. His wet shoes had rubbed a raw blister on the bottom of one foot. The worst was having too much time to think. To think about what might be waiting to trap him wherever he went, to think about his eyes, to think about Godric's Hollow, and the promises that would never come true.

The road sloped down a hill and curved to the left. They left the trees behind, and began passing buildings, squares of blocked sound on either side of Harry. He had no idea what time it was, although it seemed quite late to him.

"What time is it?" he asked Mack, but instead of answering, Mack hushed him. Harry fell silent, aware suddenly of the renewed danger.

Mack took a sharp right turn, and they walked along a quiet street. Harry wondered if any of the houses had lights in their window or Christmas wreaths on their doors. They passed a church, and just as they did so, the great bell chimed the hour. Two o'clock. That explained the quiet streets, and Harry doubted that any lights shone from windows after all. He hunched inside his sweater and hurried after Mack.

Finally, Mack chose a gate, and turned to enter, holding it open for Harry, but neglecting to warn him of the stone step up to the path. He apologized when Harry tripped.

"Don't mention it," muttered Harry, but the rush of adrenaline had the effect of rousing him thoroughly. Mack rang the bell. Heartbeats passed. Mack rang again, stamping his feet against the creeping cold.

They heard footsteps in the passage, and the door was wrenched open.

"What the hell? At this time of night?" sputtered the woman who opened the door.

"Hilda," said Mack.

"Mack?" she said in surprise. "Daniel MacIntosh?"

"May we come in, Hilda?" asked Mack. "It's bloody freezing out here."

"Who's that with you?" she asked, ushering them into the house. This time, Mack jerked his elbow to Harry to indicate a step up. Harry followed along the narrow hall, noticing the strong smell of soup that permeated the house. His stomach rumbled.

"It's Harry Potter," said Mack.

"Harry Potter, eh?" said the woman, who sounded rather too large for the tight hallway. "How in the world did you hook up with him?"

"It's a hell of a story," said Mack dryly. "But we'd appreciate a bit of a sup first. I could murder some of that soup."

"Oh, I haven't any more of the soup," Hilda said apologetically, "but I'll fix you up a nice beef sandwich and make you both a cuppa. It's a cold night to be traipsing about, and with no coat, too." Her tone sounded reproachful.

"Ta," said Mack, and he and Harry found chairs at the small table.

Now that he sat in a warm place that ought to be well-lit, Harry found himself blinking again, as though he ought to be able to see the light that he could not see. He wondered if it was the habit of avoiding light or if he was trying to lift the mist of nothingness that seemed to fill his vision. He frowned, and looked down at the tabletop that was not there.

"How's your little girl?" asked Hilda, as she bustled around the tiny kitchen like a battleship, fixing the food. Harry's head jerked up. This was unexpected. Mack hadn't seemed the type to have kids.

"I need to get back to her," said Mack anxiously. "But I've lost my wand."

"Little girl?" asked Harry in confusion.

"Sweetest little thing," began Hilda. "Mack adopted her, what was it, three..."

Mack cleared his throat, cutting off the woman's story. "And I must get home to her. As soon as Harry here has his bite. Not sure he can stay on his feet without it."

"And you've lost your wand too?" Hilda asked. "Where in the world have you two been to appear at this time of night without your wands and smelling like..."

"Err, I'll tell you all about it sometime, Hilda," Mack said quickly. Harry thought of his dislike of questions when they had been in the cellar together. Hilda seemed more amused than offended.

"Well, secretive, as always, Daniel," she said affectionately. Why don't you use the Floo to get back to your place? You have a spare wand there?"

Mack stood. Harry, more interested than ever in the sandwich, stood also, wincing as his blistered foot took his weight.

"Do you want this, Mr. Potter?" asked Hilda with an odd tone in her voice. Evidently, she had been holding his food out to him, without his being aware of it. His eyes must look the same, he thought, if she hadn't noticed he was blind.

He held out his hand. "Thank you Ma'am," he said, as she placed his sandwich on it, teetering in two halves. The air crackled with her unspoken question, and Harry imagined that she and Mack exchanged glances. He didn't care, at this point. All he wanted was the sandwich, which felt lovely and big, one half in each hand.

"Come, Harry, we must be off. I have an urgent matter to attend to," said Mack.

Yeah, thought Harry. Like a daughter you never mentioned.

Harry hadn't had a chance to bite into his sandwich yet, and the teakettle whistling was ignored as Mack grabbed Harry's elbow again, guiding him toward the fireplace and the Floo network. Irritation flared in Harry, but he suddenly wondered if Hilda was dangerous, and he followed Mack, unsure who to trust. He supposed since he'd escaped with Mack that he would follow him again, although Mack's secretiveness unsettled Harry. He seemed almost disinterested in Harry, which also unsettled him.

"Why don't you stay here for a bit, Harry," Mack said hurriedly, as if he'd suddenly made up his mind. "I'll be back for you." With that, he released Harry's arm, and, muttering something at the fireplace, vanished.

Harry was left standing in Hilda's front room, still holding the pieces of his untasted sandwich in each hand.

Hilda came into the room just in time to hear this exchange. "Never did have any manners, that Daniel," scolded. "Come Harry. You're welcome to stay here for a few hours, and you can have that cuppa after all."

Harry turned toward her. "Is he...?"

"Coming back?" she asked with a laugh. "Yes, he'll be back if he said he would. True as steel, is Daniel, but a bit rough around the edges. "Come now," she said, and she turned and ambled back out of the room. Harry followed cautiously, unsure of himself in the unfamiliar house.

Luckily, he had only to exit the front room door, turn left down the hall and walk straight into the kitchen, which he slowly did, using his elbow to trace the wall and his forearm to find the chair he'd recently vacated at the table.

He sat, and she placed a plate in front of him with a crash, and then a smaller crash turned out to be his tea. He gratefully set his sandwich on the plate, picked up half, and took an enormous bite.

"Don't mind Mack," said Hilda, pouring herself tea and settling her bulk in another chair, which creaked dangerously. Harry, his mouth full of sandwich, did not answer her, but looked in her direction as an encouragement to continue, which she happily did. 

"We were old schoolmates, you know," she said. "I fancied him a bit back in those days, you know." Her voice turned a bit shy. 

In a moment, she laughed again. "But that was a long time ago. He never likes to tell his business, that's for sure. How do you know him?"

"Well, I..." began Harry, swallowing his bite of sandwich, and gingerly feeling with the backs of his cupped knuckles for his tea. He found it and swigged a long drink of the scalding liquid.

By this time, Hilda simply continued without bothering to wait for his answer. "He was so worried about his daughter. He never leaves her, you know."

"His daughter?" Harry asked, in spite of the hot tea.

"Poor little thing. Nobody quite knows where she came from. And Mack won't tell. He adopted her, and is teaching her magic at home, but it's an uphill road."

"Why?" asked Harry, and took another bite.

"She doesn't speak," said Hilda with all the relish of a gossip who has news to share. "Hasn't said a word since she came to him. He visited here once with her, but she was quiet as a mouse the whole time. And now, here he comes 'round with you."

She said this last in the same sympathetic tone, and Harry nearly choked on his sandwich. Evidently she thought Harry was Mack's latest hard-luck case. Rather than answering, he took another sip of tea.

She continued with her gossip, as Harry listened and munched his sandwich. By the time he was finished, his fingers and toes had begun to thaw, and he felt very contented and sleepy. Just as he thought he might drift off right there at the table, there was a bang in the front room, and Mack burst into the kitchen.

"Let's go, Harry," he said without preamble. "Time to get you sorted, now."

Harry stood. "Thank you for the sandwich, Mrs…" He faltered, realizing he didn't know Hilda's surname.

"Higginbottom," she supplied, "and you're entirely welcome. Come back any time."

Mack half led, half dragged Harry back with him to the front room. "It's Mackerel's Landing," he told Harry, and without giving him time to explore the dimensions of the fireplace, he pushed him roughly inside. Harry stumbled, and just managed to say the name as the Floo network grabbed him and wrenched him along to who-knew-where at three o'clock in the morning.


	27. Chapter 27

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace into a room. Two sensations struck him immediately: the smell of the sea, and the sensation of the room being quite full and cluttered. He supposed this was Mack's house; from the name "Mackerel's Landing" and the briny smell, it seemed to be quite close to the sea.

Mack stepped out of the fireplace and smacked into Harry, shoving him a step forward, where he crashed into a low table. "Sorry," said Mack, as Harry reached down to rub his bruised shin.

Harry decided he'd be safer finding a seat, so he followed the table edge to where a sofa crowded next to it. He had to remove a pair of gum boots, a newspaper and a bowl in order to sit on it. Mack didn't appear to be the tidy type. As he sat, he heard claws on the wooden floor, and his face was swiped from chin to forehead with a long, wet tongue, while the air fanned from a wagging tail lifted the hair on Harry's forehead.

"Boots!" said Mack in a commanding voice, and the dog left off licking Harry to dance his way over to his master in a rapturous greeting. "My house, such as it is," said Mack to Harry. "You can kip there and we'll talk in the morning."

Harry could not have heard more welcome words. He eased his stiff shoes off sore feet, and sank back into the sagging sofa. Mack dumped a folded quilt next to him, and without another word headed off with the dog into another part of the house. There was no sign of a little girl, but Harry hardly expected to meet her in the middle of the night. He pulled the quilt over his weary body and fell asleep.

Harry awakened slowly, every muscle in his body stiff and sore. He lay half-sitting, half-sprawled on a collapsing lump of a sofa, surrounded by the smell of the sea and the distant conversation of the surf. Cries of gulls floated into a nearby open window, along with the salty warmth of a temperate winter sun.

Reaching up to rub his eyes, Harry discovered to his surprise that he still wore his glasses. It hadn't crossed his mind to take them off, and he'd been too busy and distracted to remember they were there. A little jolt of grief rippled through him. He no longer needed them. Maybe he would someday, but he doubted it. A curse like the one Voldemort had used on him had no cure. That much Durmstrang had taught him. His Dark Arts class may not have been as good as Lupin's lessons had been, but at least he knew more of the maiming curses and their antidotes. And the ones that had no antidote.

Frowning, he folded his glasses and tucked them into his pocket. Then, he stood and stretched, turning toward the open window and the fresh sea breeze that wafted in it. Gingerly, slowly, he slid his stockinged feet along between the coffee table and the sofa toward the window. Encountering a chair, he circled it, stepping over a pile of magazines and a dog bone. Crossing the short space to the window, he discovered it was actually a door, flung open to a deck overlooking the endless expanse of water. Harry closed his eyes and drew a long, deep breath, enjoying the empty sound of open space in front of him. Although he'd never noticed it before, the aural view before him took his breath away just as the view of the ocean used to when he could see it.

Footsteps approached from behind, along with the telltale toenail clicks, and Harry had just enough time to brace himself before Boots plowed through the door next to him, tail whipping against Harry's knees. He grinned and reached down to the smooth head, running his hand along the wavy fur of the dog's back. Golden Retriever, he decided, and got an enthusiastic lick in return for the pets.

"Friendly one, Boots," said Mack, by way of greeting. "Sleep well?"

"I did," said Harry, thinking how the warmth of the sun and feeling rested made everything less frightening, even Mack.

Mack slid through the door behind Harry and leaned against the frame.

"We need to get you back to wherever it is you came from," he said. Harry reflected that Mack certainly wasn't one for small talk.

"I was at Hogwarts when V—" began Harry, but Mack stopped him.

"Not here," he said in a warning tone.

"But you…" said Harry.

"But that was not here," said Mack in a patient tone. Then his voice changed entirely. "Naia, come meet Harry Potter."

Harry hadn't heard the girl approach, and even now, he got little sense of her. She did not say anything, but Harry wasn't surprised after what Hilda had said last night. Mack's hand rustled against her hair, an almost feather-light sound, but Harry heard it through the noise of the surf. He turned toward them and put out a hand for her to shake.

"Hello," he said, trying to sound friendly, and wondering how tall she was, and whether he was looking at her or above her.

She took his hand with one of her small, soft ones, and he was assaulted with a memory. Had he met this girl before? He wished he could see her. Something about the touch of her hand reminded him of… someone. But who was it?

As he bent to shake her hand, Boots took the opportunity to scrub Harry's face again with his long tongue, and Harry laughed, letting Naia's hand go and using both of his palms to fend off the friendly dog.

"I have some breakfast for you," said Mack, turning to re-enter the house. "Well, more like lunch."

Following Mack inside, he knocked into a small table containing a plant and a stack of books. Silently, Naia took his hand, slipping her soft one into his palm and pulling him to his right and a clear path through the cluttered room. Again, the touch of her hand guiding him reminded him strongly of something, but again, he couldn't grasp it. He gave up when he reached the table covered with food.

Mack was silent as they ate, so the meal ended up being a very quiet one. Naia made as little noise as a shadow, which rendered her nearly invisible to Harry, so he got no sense at all of her personality. Her little gesture of kindness endeared her to him, however, and he wished she would say something.

"Naia means 'Dolphin,'" said Mack, his voice muffled by the napkin he used to wipe his mouth. He'd set down his fork, picked up a cup and settled himself back in his chair with a sigh. Harry, his mouth full, did not reply, but his head came up in surprise at the words.

"I pulled her out of the sea," continued Mack. "I was out in my boat, ready to head in after a long day. She was a half-drowned little fish, too. Tried to find out where she came from or who she was, but she likes to keep her secrets."

Harry considered this. In that way, she was like her adopted father. This was the longest speech he'd ever heard from Mack, and he wondered why Mack would tell him all this.

"She's lived with me ever since, and I've done my best to teach her magic. Couldn't bear to send her to Hogwarts, poor shy little thing," said Mack, almost apologetically. "But I see now that I can't take care of her. I can't keep her safe. My getting captured… being away so long… She'll be safer at Hogwarts."

He paused. Beside Harry, the little girl had stopped eating and sat very still. The sound of the surf, and Boots gnawing a bone were the only sounds in the room.

"Sorry, Little One," said Mack to what Harry guessed was a pleading look from his daughter. Then, in a firmer tone, he added, "I want you to go with Harry Potter back to Hogwarts. He'll take you to Dumbledore. He'll know what to do."

Harry wondered if this mite was even old enough to attend Hogwarts.

"Am I going back?" he asked.

"As soon as possible," answered Mack. "You're not safe here. I should not have brought you here in the first place, but, well…" He trailed off.

Relief cascaded over Harry. Mack hadn't kidnapped him after all. The thought had entered the back of Harry's mind and refused to leave. He wasn't sure he could trust this rough fisherman, but it seemed that he could, at least enough to get him home again.

"I've already sent an owl to Dumbledore. Let me get Naia's things ready, and you'll be on your way," said Mack, pushing his chair back from the table. Naia hadn't moved, but neither did she cry. Harry found her hand on the table and patted it.

"It'll be okay," he said reassuringly to her. "Hogwarts is a good place."

Getting her things together did not take long, and soon Harry and Naia were standing side-by-side in front of the small grate in Mack's messy front room. This time, Harry did not run into the coffee table. Mack tipped a handful of Floo powder into Harry's palm, and Harry tossed it, aiming as well as he could, while at the same time shouting, "Hogwarts!" Putting an arm around Naia's thin waist, he stepped with her into the fire, unexpectedly knocking his forehead against the low mantle. He grimaced with the pain during the quick trip, and after they staggered out of the fireplace on the other side, he rubbed it fiercely with his free hand. He let her go, and she set down her carpetbag, looking around her.

"Welcome back, Harry," said a familiar voice, and Harry noticed the whirring of the silver instruments and the rustle of Fawkes on his perch. They were in Dumbledore's office.

Harry straightened and faced the speaker. "Hello, sir," he said to Professor Dumbledore. Without warning, someone beside him engulfed Harry in a huge hug.

"Harry," said Sirius. "We were so worried. What happened?" Before he could catch his breath, his hand was being pumped from the other side and Remus Lupin repeated the question. Naia shrank away from the two men.

Gratefully, Harry hugged his godfather back, his eyes moist. It felt so good to be home again, to be safe. For a minute, there were no words, only hugs. Finally, everyone sorted themselves out and got untangled. Harry swallowed several times and blinked hard; this time, it wasn't his subconscious trying to see.

Everyone sat down, and began talking at once. Then, everyone laughed and told everyone else to go first. Eventually, things simmered down, and Harry told his story, beginning with his walk and abduction, the conversation with Voldemort, the blinding curse, the cellar, meeting Mack, their escape, Hilda's house, and then the night in Mack's cottage.

"And that is how I met Naia," Harry finished, gesturing to the little girl beside him.

"Naia," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. When he said it, the little girl fearfully put her hand into Harry's.

Like a lightning bolt, Harry knew. He knew who she reminded him of. And he knew what to do.

"Blimey!" he said, jumping up. Naia shrank away again.

"What is it, Harry?" asked Lupin. Harry motioned him over and said something quietly into his ear. Lupin rushed from the room, leaving stunned silence behind. Harry stood still, his heart pounding.

Lupin did not take long to return. When he did, he had in tow Jamie Mercer, retrieved from Gryffindor tower where she had been packing for her return trip to Durmstrang.

When Naia saw Jamie, she gave a half-strangled little cry and flew across the room toward her. Harry heard the sound of the two of them embracing one another, and he heard the gasps of the others in the room.

"As alike as two peas," said Dumbledore, with a catch in his voice.

Jamie dragged Naia over to stand in front of Harry. "You found my sister. Jasmine Mercer."

Naia, or rather Jasmine, hugged her twin again, tears streaming. Then, she spoke. "Jamie."


	28. Chapter 28

Harry tossed his knapsack onto his bed in the boys' dormitory at Durmstrang, and then joined it, flopping down on his back and thinking over the events of the past week. After the tearful reunion between the twins, Jamie's and Jasmine's parents had been notified, and Harry got to witness another joyful reunion. Both twins had gone home for several weeks to be with their family, and then they planned to both join the class at Durmstrang. Harry missed his little shadow, but thinking about her happiness, he could not help but smile.

Professor O'Carolan was still recovering at 12 Grimmauld Place. The Order hadn't decided whether it was safe for him to return to Durmstrang, although Harry could sense his growing impatience when he talked with him via the floo network.

As for Harry himself, he'd had a long talk with Dumbledore about his conversation with Voldemort, his subsequent descent into total blindness, and being rescued by Mack. Harry had assumed that since he now knew the location of Voldemort's headquarters, they would launch some sort of an offensive immediately, with Harry and Mack as guides. To his dismay, however, Dumbledore brushed this plan aside.

Of course, Harry had seen Madame Pomfrey, who'd said there was nothing she could do, beyond giving him some potions to relieve the dry-eye pain that apparently came with the blinding curse. Dumbledore hadn't wanted to send Harry back to Durmstrang, but Harry himself insisted. He wanted to finish what he began.

Now, though, in his dormitory, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. In spite of all of his training with Lupin the year before, he hadn't realized how disoriented he'd feel. After ten days with no sight, frustration and depression had begun to settle, and it took every ounce of willpower to decide to get up and make his way to the Common room again. He forced himself to listen to the echoes as he made his way along the passage. Like in the blindfold lessons with Lupin, he felt slightly dizzy, and once he even stopped and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself.

At last, he entered the Common room, found an armchair, and sank into it gratefully.

"Are you okay?" asked a voice from nearby.

Harry's head snapped up. He wondered if he'd ever get used to being surprised like that. "Yeah," he said briefly, and allowed his head to fall back against the arm of the chair again.

"Is it true?" The voice, belonging to Adrian Pucey, held hesitant curiosity, and Harry groaned inwardly.

"Is what true?" he asked, taking the bait, since he didn't have anything better to do.

"About Vol—You-Know-Who. And your eyes."

At least Adrian didn't beat around the bush, Harry thought wryly.

"Yeah," he answered, trying to think of something more to say, but coming up with nothing. He didn't know exactly what the rumors were, but he didn't really care.

"Blimey," said Adrian, "guess Alexei will really try to take a shot at you now."

"You think?" asked Harry, his head coming up again.

"Well, yeah. You're a sitting duck. I'm sure there's a fat reward for you now," said Adrian.

Harry hadn't thought of this. "I'm such an idiot," he said, frowning. He should have stayed at Hogwarts. This was going to be a lot more dangerous than he thought. And now, he did not even have Professor O'Carolan to teach him how to manage.

"You're not alone, you know," said Adrian, as if reading Harry's thoughts.

"Like hell, I'm not," muttered Harry.

"Hogwarts… we stick together," said Adrian, and a conspiratorial tone in his voice made Harry's eyes narrow.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Oh, err, well, just that Luna and I, we sort of put a silencing spell on him," admitted Adrian, his voice jerky with suppressed laughter.

"No!" said Harry, scandalized and delighted. "He'll be after you before you can blink."

"That little git," said Adrian dismissively. "He'll be out of your hair while you learn your way around again."

Harry grinned. "Thanks, mate."

Adrian grunted, and for a few minutes, silence settled comfortably over them.

Finally, Harry asked, "How was the Yule Ball?"

"Meaning…?" Adrian asked, with a grin in his voice.

"You know!" said Harry playfully. "Sarah?"

"Shhh," said Adrian smugly. "She's over there."

Harry hadn't a clue where "over there" was, but he got the idea.

"Speaking of which…" said Adrian, and Harry could picture him winking.

"Have fun," muttered Harry to Adrian's retreating back. Suddenly, Harry felt even more depressed. He got up and unfolded his cane with a snap. Leaving the Hogwarts' Common Room with the intention of going for a walk, and also practicing some navigation, he carefully made his way down toward the front entrance. He hadn't gone far when the sweet scent of perfume arrested him in his tracks.

Natalia.

Harry's heart thudded as she slid her soft hand down his arm and took his hand. "Hello, Harry," she said in her syrupy tones, and Harry's neck prickled. How much did she know?

He turned toward her with a guarded smile. To his surprise, she leaned in close to him, and brushed his cheek with her lips, causing a flood of warmth to pour over him, in spite of the warning bells in his head. He gulped. "Err, hello," he managed, and he imagined her straightening up again with a smug smile on her face. He didn't know if all Veelas enjoyed throwing people off-balance, but this one sure did.

"How was your Christmas holiday?" she asked, still cradling his hand in hers.

"Err, well," began Harry, tongue-tied. The last two weeks blurred together in his mind. Before he could untangle them into a coherent answer, Natalia continued.

"I traveled home to Ukraine," she said, as though Harry had asked her. "My sisters, my mother, and father… they all were so happy. We celebrate Christmas on the seventh of January, you know, and we welcome Papa Frost, instead of St. Nicholas. My mother, she cooked a feast for us, and my sisters all showed me how well they dance now."

She rattled on happily, and Harry relaxed slightly, intoxicated by her lilting voice. Perhaps she had not spoken with the Dark Lord lately. She didn't seem to have any ulterior motive beyond simply wanting to talk. Mentally fighting the urge to be lulled into oblivion by the feel of her lithe body beside him, Harry wondered if he could use Natalia's interest to his advantage.

"I've seen him," he broke in abruptly. She froze, her sentence hanging unresolved in midair. "Over the hols. I spoke with him." He tried to say it nonchalantly, boastfully. He was one of them, now, or so he wanted her to believe. Inwardly, however, his stomach clenched.

Her silence lasted a fraction too long. "Him?" she asked, her voice trying to sound careless, but Harry could hear the thread of tension underneath the light tone.

"Yeah," said Harry smugly, pleased at throwing her off balance for one. "He says he has a job for me." It was almost true. "Maybe for us." He smiled inwardly again, although careful to keep his face neutral and turned toward her.

"He said that, did he?" she asked with a disbelieving note in her voice.

"Sure," said Harry, leaning in a little toward her intoxicating scent.

"And Alexei?" she asked, but gave a quick gasping intake of air, as if she hadn't meant to say that. Harry thought fast. Their inner circle. Alexei. Of course.

He pulled back ever so slightly. "Alexei?"

She said nothing.

"Wait," said Harry, frowning. "You don't mean you and Alexei…?" He let his words trail off, his voice full of hidden meaning. Inside, he felt suddenly lighter. If she and Alexei were together, it meant Harry no longer had to worry so much about her. It meant she was merely using him, doing her assignment from Voldemort. Then, he frowned again. It meant she hadn't fancied him after all. Ouch, that hurt a bit.

"Well," she said, drawing the word out slowly as if using it as a shield against what came next. "He and I, you know… it just sort of… and he is, you know, Russian… not that Ukranians like Russians, but…"

Harry's mind was whirling. He wished he had someone to tell him what to say, had Ron to tell him which chess pieces to move in this complicated little game. He wanted the information Natalia could give him. But he had to be very, very careful or he'd give himself away.

He frowned harder, turning away from her, thinking. Her soft hand touched his cheek, pulling his face around toward her. "Look at me," she coaxed softly.

"I can't see you," Harry said miserably. He suddenly felt tired, confused, lost.

"You can see me a little," she insisted.

"No, I can't," said Harry, and too late realized his mistake. If Natalia realized that he'd been blinded by Voldemort himself, she'd know he was lying about being one of them. "My eyes are a lot worse," he said quickly. He floundered, trying to think of an explanation. The despair that he'd tried hard to keep at bay threatened to wash over him. Everything was going wrong.

Instead of saying anything, she squeezed his hands in sympathy, and turned to leave. Harry stood still, trying to tell if her whisper-soft footsteps walked away or if she still lingered. He sighed a deep breath that seemed to come from his very toes.

"What's wrong, Harry?" said a voice at his elbow. Luna's voice, he decided, after a moment's thought.

"Err, nothing," he said sadly.

His next class was knitting, so he turned and headed automatically up the corridors, letting the concentration it took to navigate the castle distract him from his problems. He seemed to be further than ever from finding any sort of useful information for the Order. He began rummaging in his bag halfheartedly for his metal knitting needles when out of the empty corridor, he felt a body hit him from behind. Without warning, he hit the floor, a solid shape atop him, but still there came no sound from his assailant. He had no idea what was happening as fists pummeled his ribs and rained blows to his head.

Struggling to breathe, Harry twisted and squirmed under his silent attacker. "Who…?" he finally gasped out, but the minute his face turned upward, a fist slammed into his mouth. Terrified, Harry kicked and lashed out, tangled in his school bag, cane, and knitting. He couldn't even draw his wand. So far, his enemy hadn't used magic, but Harry waited for a curse to come.

"Who are you?" Harry gasped again, disgusted that his voice sounded young and scared. In response, a hand wrenched his cane out from under him and Harry heard the clatter as it skidded down the hallway from the force of the throw. Harry suddenly remembered using the cane to defend himself not too long ago. Alexei.

Of course! The silencing spell! Alexei couldn't talk, but the involuntary vow of silence didn't stop him from using his considerable brute strength on Harry. Just as Harry thought this, his nose took a direct hit and began to bleed. He hid his face and arms, taking the wrath of Alexei's flying fists with his back. He slowly reached for his school bag under him and the metal knitting needles, which were the only thing he could think of using as a weapon.

Since he'd stopped resisting, Alexei had released his hold on Harry in order to use both fists to pound on him. Harry used the relaxed hold to turn as quickly as he could and face Alexei, holding a knitting needle at the ready. For a split second Alexei paused, evidently thinking the silver tube was a wand, and Harry took the time to draw his real wand, pointing it straight at the only thing he could hear: heavy breathing.

"Get away from me," he said slowly, through clenched teeth. A quick movement made Harry jump, because he couldn't tell if Alexei had drawn his own wand. Harry fervently hoped the silence extended to saying spells, since the last thing Harry needed right now was a wizard's duel.

Instead of fighting, however, Alexei whirled and ran down the corridor, his trainers pounding. Harry slumped with relief against the wall of the corridor, his eyes closed, his hands on his pounding head.


	29. Chapter 29

"I didn't find anything," Harry said miserably to Sirius-in-the-fire in the Common Room at midnight that night. He didn't want to say how sore his ribs felt, or how much it hurt that Natalia had merely been using him this whole year. He had hoped to spy out the Carrows, but instead, all he'd managed to do was to get pummeled and rejected.

"Let me speak with him," said another voice out of the crackling fire, and Harry heard his Godfather's snort of disapproval. A pause, and then the second voice said gently, "Harry, it's Professor O'Carolan."

"Sir," said Harry miserably, not in the mood for a lecture on how he wasn't supposed to allow his blindness to get in the way. Well, it was damn sure in the way.

"Give yourself a rest, lad," said O'Carolan unexpectedly.

"Sir?" queried Harry.

"Ye needn't do everything in one night. Something's a-comin', yes, but not tomorrow," said O'Carolan mysteriously.

"What is coming?" asked Harry wearily, thinking that if one more thing came, he might as well just surrender and lie down. He laughed, though, adding, "Are you doing your blind seer bit again?" As an afterthought, he tacked on another "sir" for good measure.

O'Carolan laughed. "You got me. Everyone else, they fall for it, but you… not you."

What are you trying to say? Harry asked silently. He had a feeling that the old Irishman was trying to tell him something, but he was too weary to work it out.

"Sweet dreams, lad," said O'Carolan, and Harry heard only the crackling of the fire. He waited for Sirius to say something, but the room had fallen silent, and the heat from the fire had sunk to nearly nothing. Harry rose and made his way slowly down the corridor to the dormitory, arbitrarily remembering the sunlight here only a few weeks before. Now, although Harry knew it was dark right now, it did not look black to him. It did not look gray or white or any color at all. It looked like nothing. He felt a wave of dizziness engulf him, and he leaned against the wall.

After a few minutes of deciding he didn't want to spend the night in the narrow passage, he trailed one hand along the wall for balance, and continued toward his bed.

The next morning, Adrian greeted him with a cheerful, "What happened to you?" as Harry sat up, groaning. He knew his face must be a sight. His lip felt swollen and his nose too seemed tender, although not as misshapen. His ribs ached and ears still rang slightly, the most annoying effect, since most of his world now belonged to his ears.

"Alexei." Harry spat out the word, ashamed again to have been bested.

"That little ape," began Adrian, but cut himself off. "How?"

"I never even heard him coming," added Harry bitterly. Somehow that was the worst. Being jumped in the dark by the silent attacker added insult to injury.

"The ape," said Adrian again, his words full of fury. "I should never have put that silencing spell on him. It just made things worse."

"Nah, mate," said Harry, dismissively. He didn't need Adrian blaming himself. He had been trying to help, and Harry could use all the allies he could get. It occurred to him that a brighter ally might be preferable, but he shoved that thought aside.

"Let's go have some breakfast," he said, to change the conversation.

Later, he sat in the Dark Arts class, listening to Professor Alecto Carrow lecture about the uses for the Obliviate spell. Since Harry had generally only heard of using this spell for Muggles who had seen unusual wizarding activity, he felt a bit sick as he listened to Professor Carrow recommend the spell in use during a duel. A witch or wizard's ally can effectively use obliviate to distract a dueller by obliterating the memory of the reason for dueling in the first place. Interfering in a duel seemed so low and underhanded to Harry, he wanted to jump to his feet and argue, but he restrained himself.

The day's classes went by in a dizzying blur to Harry, who had to focus nearly all of his energy on finding the locations of the classrooms, and try to take a few awkward Braille notes on the lessons. He discovered that he was developing a better memory than he'd had previously, which helped in remembering lectures and finding routes, but it still took concentration.

Several weeks passed in this manner, and Harry did not cross paths with Natalia, to his disappointment, or Alexei, to his relief. He began spending more time chatting with Luna and Adrian in the Common Room.

"A Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw, and a Slytherin," said Adrian one night, tossing himself into a chair near Harry. Harry flopped the Braille book he held closed and looked up, grinning with relief at the interruption. He found that he still automatically made eye contact with someone speaking to him out of habit, even though looking toward their faces did him no good at all. Tonight, when he did so, Adrian commented on it. "You give me the willies, mate, when you do that."

"Do what?" asked Harry absently, since he'd been thinking about something else.

"Look at me," said Adrian. "It's like you can see me. Sometimes I think you're putting me on about being blind, but then you knock into a chair or something."

"Err, thanks," said Harry wryly. "I can tell you, I'm not faking." The thought almost made him laugh aloud.

"I know you're not," said Adrian more seriously than usual. "What's it like? To not be able to see?" he added curiously as if Harry had given him unspoken permission for confidences to be requested.

"I dunno," said Harry vaguely. "Like nothing. Just nothing. No light, no dark, just nothing."

"Blimey," said Adrian, sounding for a moment a bit like Ron.

"So, what's it like to not be able to read?" he returned. A fair question, he thought.

Adrian fell silent, however, and Harry guessed he'd crossed a line.

"Nobody's ever asked me that before," he said slowly. "Not me mum, not the teachers."

"Why not?" asked Harry curiously. He'd thought it a question Adrian had likely heard plenty.

"I never told anybody," said Adrian.

"How can you get by and not tell anyone?" asked Harry, astounded. He tried to imagine hoarding such a secret himself. The amount of pressure, the shame, and mental fatigue he himself endured paled in comparison to trying to meet the level playing field that everyone else enjoyed.

"I don't know, really," said Adrian. "I just don't talk about it, I guess." He sat thoughtfully for a few minutes, but Harry found his mind wandering again. "It's like, the letters, they don't stay still." Harry's attention snapped back as Adrian attempted to explain his dyslexia. "They look different every time," he finished lamely. "I can read. Sometimes, I feel like my brain is a pool of primordial ooze, it's so slow."

Harry snorted. "Slow," he said, opening the monstrous Braille book and running his fingers haltingly over the top line of the page.

"Glad I don't have to try to read that," said Adrian, bending to examine the page of dots.

"It isn't bad, once you get used to it. I still read really slowly, and it makes homework take ages." Harry explained. He was beginning to tire of the conversation. He wondered why everything a blind person did had to draw such curiosity from others. Everything seemed made to scream different! Huge white books, long white canes, noisy readers, and quills.

He flipped the book closed again and sat back in his chair, wondering if he should get up and find another seat, and if he could do so without appearing rude, when Luna sat down, greeting both of them in her usual absentminded way.

"Hi," said Harry, turning to her, glad for the interruption.

"Something is going to happen," she said, her voice dreamy.

"Something usually does," quipped Adrian, but Harry froze, waiting. Luna rarely said anything unimportant, and this repetition of Professor O'Carolan felt eerily foreboding.

Luna went on as though Adrian had not interrupted.

"I heard the Carrows talking in the Dark Arts classroom," she said. "I went back down there tonight because I lost one of my humour rings, and I went to see if I left it in there after class today. I got to the door, and there were voices, loud voices in there, so I stopped. The Professors Carrow both were speaking to someone; I've no idea who it was. I had just about given my ring up for lost…"

Harry could no longer contain his curiosity. "Did you hear anything they said?" he interrupted excitedly.

"One of them asked, 'tonight?'" she recited. "And the stranger said, 'things have fallen into place more quickly than he had anticipated.'"

"Things," Harry mused. "Go on."

"And Professor Carrow said, 'We'll be ready.'" Luna's slow words somehow still managed to infuse the simple phrase with ominous meaning. "After that, it sounded like they would come out, and I walked away, because if they knew I'd heard them, they might change their plans. Still, I was disappointed I'd lost my ring. It tells if the wearer will hear good or bad news, along with the next day's breakfast menu. I was rather hoping we'd have toast and tea tomorrow." With that, she rose and wandered vaguely away again, leaving Harry to ponder what she'd said.

"What is it, mate?" asked Adrian, when Harry had sat wrapped in thought for a full five minutes.

"Tonight," Harry muttered. "Tonight."

Adrian didn't say anything, and Harry assumed he was giving an odd look, but at the moment, he didn't care.

"Do you know where Godric's Hollow is?" he asked suddenly.

"Sure," said Adrian. "You were born there, right?"

"Err, yeah," said Harry, brushing off the Famous-Harry-Potter trivia for the moment. "Do you think we could get there? Tonight?"

"Not bloody likely from here," said Adrian in a tone that implied Harry had lost his mind. Harry considered. Whatever Voldemort had planned was going to happen tonight. Nobody knew where to find him except Harry, and Mack, and Harry was out of time. If he could find Godric's Hollow, he might be able to retrace the route he and Mack had taken during their escape. He had to try.

"We have to find a way to get to Godric's Hollow," he said urgently.

"From this forsaken icebox?" asked Adrian. "How?"

Harry considered. They had always traveled to Durmstrang via the magical ship. But surely there were other ways? Hadn't he and Professor O'Carolan apparated straight to Grimmauld Place? Still, Adrian mightn't know how to apparate yet, and Harry certainly didn't. He was thinking so hard, he didn't notice Adrian leave, and a few minutes later, return.

He started when Adrian tossed a hard object onto the table in front of him. Reaching over his ponderous book, he touched it: a smallish wooden box with smooth sides.

"Floo powder," said Adrian in explanation. "Me uncle gave it to me in case of emergency."

"Come on then!" said Harry, jumping to his feet, his forgotten book falling to the floor. "We can go to Mack's house first."

They hurried to the fireplace. Thankfully, the Common Room had not yet begun to fill with evening studying, and was relatively deserted, although Harry asked Adrian in a hurried whisper if anyone was watching. He tossed a handful of the silky powder into the fire.

As he stepped forward, saying "Mackerel's Landing," he tripped on the front of the grate, and his words got swallowed in a gasp. Terror filled him as he whirled downward, with no possible way of knowing where he would emerge.


	30. Chapter 30

With Adrian on his heels, Harry tumbled out of the fire headfirst onto cold, hard stone. He tried to listen for the size and shape of the room, and more importantly, the occupants. He heard nothing except Adrian cursing under his breath.

"Bugger," said Adrian, standing up and beginning to dust himself off. "Where in the bloody…"

"What does it look like?" Harry asked sharply. He knew he'd muffed it, but he only had a few precious hours to waste.

"Looks like a workshop," said Adrian. "Stone. That was a bit of a forge or something."

"Near the sea," said Harry thoughtfully, as a waft of salty air came in through the open door, competing with the heavy smell of metalwork.

"Hey there, wotthehell's goin' on in there?" asked an irritated man's voice from outside the door.

"Uh oh," said Adrian.

Next moment, a beefy man burst into the shop. At least, Harry got the impression of beefiness as the man blustered and swore. Harry could almost see the purplish cast to his face, like Uncle Vernon's face when he was angry.

"What're you two blokes doing in my barn?" demanded the man, and Harry had no answer for him. To have two chaps unexpectedly tumble out of one's forge in a workshop would be odd indeed. He considered casting an obliviate spell.

Instead, he asked politely, "We're sorry. Could you tell us the name of this place, and we'll be on our way."

"You didn't pinch anything, I hope?" asked the man, a trifle less suspiciously.

"No, sir," said Adrian quickly.

"Hrmmmfff," said the man through his nose, indicating, Harry supposed, that he was a bit more placated.

"What's the name of this place?" repeated Harry urgently.

"Mercer's Landing," said the man, proudly. "Simon Mercer," he said, and evidently he'd thrust out his hand for a shake, because he muttered to himself, "idiot, he's blind," and shook Adrian's hand instead.

"Mercer?" asked Harry. "Do you know Jamie Mercer, by chance?"

"My own daughter," said the man, his voice growing a bit drippy. "And her twin sister, just restored to us.

Harry could hardly believe his luck. She might be able to help them find Godric's Hollow, first-year though she was. He hadn't landed entirely among Muggles. "May I see her?" he asked eagerly.

"Of course," said the man, evidently now completely at ease with the appearance of two lads in his shop. "This way." He strode back out of the shop, and Harry, for efficiency's sake, put a hand on Adrian's shoulder. He'd never done this before, and Adrian's shoulder stiffened, although he said nothing. Harry followed him past some unidentified metal implements that caught at their trousers, and through a low doorway. Harry would have bashed his forehead had he not felt Adrian stoop, and he was glad he'd avoided that particular bruise.

"Jamie!" the man called from well across a yard. "Jamie, some friends of yours, probably from that ruddy school."

Light footsteps descended some stairs, and a small voice cried, "Harry!" Harry was unexpectedly attacked by a fierce, if small, hug.

"Dad, this is Harry Potter. He found Jasmine for us!" she explained all in one breath.

"Harry Potter, eh?" said Mr. Mercer. "A blind kid rescued my daughter?" he said with surprise.

"I know, amazing, right?" said Harry, his annoyance at the condescension coming out as sarcasm.

But Mr. Mercer hadn't been overburdened with perception. "It is, lad, it is," he said heartily, pumping Harry's hand. "Don't know how we could ever repay you. Come in at least and have tea."

"Thanks but we must be off a bit quickly, I'm afraid," said Harry, both apologetic and secretly relieved. "Might we borrow your daughter for a minute?"

More light footsteps joined them, and Jamie's voice lightened. "Jazz," she said. Her twin did not answer, and Harry felt the once-familiar frustration with her quietness making her almost invisible to him while at the same time he felt drawn to her.

It took a rather longer amount of time than Harry had hoped to convince Mr. Mercer to let them speak uninterrupted. When he finally had the twins alone with himself and Adrian, Harry began outlining his suspicions that Voldemort was planning something for that very night.

"But we don't know where he is," objected Jamie.

"That's the thing," Harry said excitedly. "I do, or at least I hope I do."

"How is that?" asked Adrian.

"Well," said Harry, "Mack and I escaped from the house where he has his headquarters."

"How do you know he is still there?" asked Adrian.

"I guess I don't," said Harry, "but it's all I have to go on right now."

"Where do we find this place?" Jamie asked doubtfully.

"I need to begin from Godric's Hollow, and find a village called Tripheath," said Harry, hoping he remembered the name correctly.

"I have never heard of that place," said Jamie miserably.

"I have." The voice startled Harry. It sounded like and yet unlike Jamie's voice.

He turned to Jasmine. "You talked!"

"Yes," she said shyly, but did not elaborate.

"So, where is Godric's Hollow or Trip-whatever-it-was from here?" asked Adrian impatiently, and Harry remembered how urgent was their errand.

"It is not far," said Jasmine softly.

"The trouble is getting Dad to let us go," said Jamie.

"He will," said Jasmine without explanation.

It turned out to be quite a bit easier than Harry feared. The twins asked their father if they could show the bows where something was. Whether Jasmine had some sort of power over her father or if he was merely an unusually indulgent parent, he consented immediately.

The girls set off inland, and Harry realized that the town he sought must be fairly close. He walked with his hand on Adrian's shoulder again, since he didn't think the burly Slytherin would appreciate Harry holding his elbow. The lane was rough, and Harry was glad he had a sighted lead, as he would have had a lot of trouble making his way along it.

"Where are you going, Jazz?" asked Jamie. “There's nothing down here.” 

Her sister didn't answer, which didn't surprise Harry in the slightest. Just over the hill from Mercer's Landing, she veered off into a field and stood still.

"She is holding her hand out," said Adrian to Harry in a whisper "I wonder what she wants."The answer came when Jamie took her hand and gestured the boys to do the same, as if the four of them were a sporting huddle. As soon as he touched her hand, Harry felt a disorienting dizziness. He let go, but as he did, he heard Adrian's gasp of surprise. He waited for an explanation, but no one seemed to remember that he needed the information.

"What happened?" he asked.

"That was impressive," said Adrian.

"What was?" Harry asked irritably.

Jamie answered. "Jasmine can do this, this thing. We're not sure if it's apparating or if she is like a human portkey. But she can go where she wants."

"But you're only a first-year," said Adrian in amazement.

"Mack taught me a lot." Jasmine kept her answer short. Harry remembered Mack telling him that he's taught Jasmine at home, something Harry hadn't before considered anyone doing.

"At any rate, we're here," said Adrian, evidently recovering from his shock.

"We're at Godric's Hollow?" Harry asked, his pulse beating faster.

Jamie answered in the negative, after a quick consultation with her sister. "We're in Tripheath."

"Which way?" she asked. Harry knew this was coming, but realizing that all of their navigation was now up to him made his stomach lurch. How long had it been since he'd lost all of his sight? A matter of weeks? He realized he did not even know which way he was facing. He tipped his face upward, wondering if he could feel the sun on his face, but the usual English clouds obscured the sun.

"There was a wood," he began slowly. The others began turning around muttering to one another things like, "That looks like a wood that way," and "no, it's only a hill with bushes on it." 

Harry felt his stomach lurch.

"So you know where Hilda Higgin-?" he asked, turning to Jasmine.

"Higginbottom?" supplied Jasmine.

"Yeah, the lady who is a friend of Mack."

"Yes," said Jasmine, and without another word set off down the road. Harry gritted his teeth. If only that girl made a bit more noise! Adrian was about to take Harry's arm, but seemed to remember in time that it was wrong He stood uncertainly until Harry found his shoulder, and then set off at a jog after the disappearing twins. Harry hadn't jogged for some time, so he felt a little off-centered, but he fell into step, and tried to keep up. It did not take long and Jamie stopped in front of a low gate. Harry, reaching out a hand recognized it, and stood thinking. In his mind, he was reliving those minutes and hours in the shivering night as he followed Mack to this gate.

"We came from this way," he said with assurance, pointing down the road. "One street and then from there." He pointed vaguely to a street at right angles to the one they were on.

"Heigh ho, then, let's go," said Jamie, setting off in the direction Harry had pointed. Once they were on that road, Harry said, "It was straight. It just went on and on."

"There is a wood,” said Adrian, excitedly, and they set off. 

As they walked, Harry listened to the dark, soft sound-shadow of the wood on their left. He remembered the interminable walk along these trees that he and Mack had made, although the spring evening, even with its intermittent rain showers seemed preferable, and in less time than he would have thought possible, the wood ended, and a field took its place. Harry stopped, trying to think. How long had it been before they came to the wood?

"It was this way, he said, gesturing past the wood. There was a stream," said Harry.

"I don't see a stream, mate," said Adrian.

"A lane, then?" asked Harry hopefully. He thought he remembered a lane.

"There is a lane up here just a bit," said Jamie.

"We'll give it a go," said Harry, with more assurance than he felt. They followed the road until they turned left onto the unpaved lane, bordered by stone fences on either side. Somehow, it felt right to Harry. He saw in his mind the night sky, obstinately devoid of stars, and the black sentinels of hedgerows as he and Mack had come along.

Several fields later along the lane, they came to a grassy knoll where Harry heard the bleating of sheep. 

"There's your stream, Harry," said Adrian with satisfaction, and several heads turned to look.

"It is a stream, Harry," said Jamie excitedly, clutching Harry's arm and jumping up and down.

"Are there bushes growing along it?" asked Harry, remembering the tangle he'd had to work through in order to get to the open grass.

"Oh Yes!" said Jamie. "We're going to find it!"

"What then?" asked Adrian practically.

Harry paused. They would sneak in, of course. But what then? How would four students take on the greatest dark wizard Britain had ever known?

"I should have called Sirius," he said regretfully. He waited for an "I told you so" from Adrian, but one did not come.

There was nothing to do but go on. Adrian and Harry pushed their way through the tangled bushes at the sides of the stream. Harry stood listening to the layers of water against rocks, trying desperately to come up with a good plan to face Voldemort. Adrian tramped up and down the banks looking for the aqueduct Harry had described.

"I think I found it," he said at last to Harry.


	31. Chapter 31

In whispers, they called to the twins, and the four of them splashed their way up the stream, sliding precariously over rocks, and feeling the current tugging at their ankles at every step. It seemed to Harry that it was hours they spent mucking along in the stream, hardly making any headway at all, but at last Adrian announced in a whisper, "here it is."

The hole was higher than Harry remembered, and the stone arch felt lower. He wondered if he'd have the courage to climb into it, especially knowing what was on the other end.

To his surprise, Jasmine took the lead again. He felt her slight body push past him and, with both hands on the lower edge of the yawning opening, she hoisted herself up and was soon inside. Jamie gasped, and under her breath said, "Jazzy!," confirming to Harry that the leader had been the quieter twin. Harry took a firm grip on his courage, and pulled himself up onto the edge of the narrow space and on his elbows and knees, followed Jasmine. Jamie followed closely on his heels, and after her, Harry could hear Adrian grunt as he crawled into the low hole.

Although Harry couldn't see it, the darkness nevertheless felt oppressive around them as they wormed their way deeper into the hillside. It occurred to Harry that there may be any number of outlets above them, and there was no way to know which one he and Mack had come through. He said nothing to the others and kept inching his way along behind Jasmine.

At last, a draught of air hit his face, and he stopped. "Hold up," he said to the others, exploring the vertical shaft with his fingers. It had metal rungs of a sort of ladder in it as he remembered. He could hear Adrian and Jamie whispering together, the sound widening in hissing echoes up the tunnel. He shook his head in disgust and turned his attention back to the shaft above his head. It ascended farther than he could reach, and once he had decided there was nothing else to discover without climbing, he sat back down again in the trickle of water at the bottom of the aqueduct.

Adrian and Jamie crowded around him. "We were thinking," began Adrian, in a bit of a rush as though Harry wouldn't like their idea. "Someone should go back for help."

Harry agreed. To have the twins go get Sirius and the other Order members would not only remove them directly from harm's way, but would bring him badly-needed support. It was quickly decided, and Harry and Adrian began climbing the metal ladder while the girls made their way back down the waterway.

He had not climbed far when his knuckles grazed a metal grate such as the one he and Mack had removed. His shoes, wet through from walking in the stream, slipped from a rung suddenly, and he hit Adrian's shoulder, causing a grunt and a whispered curse.

"Sorry," Harry said, groping for the metal bar. For answer he got another muttered curse. Harry rolled his eyes to himself, and resumed exploring the grate with his fingers. It was stuck fast.

"This can't be it," he muttered furiously to Adrian. "The grate was loose."

At that moment, he froze because he heard something above him. Soft pattering, and then a swish of fabric. Quiet voices. He couldn't determine what they said, but there were several, and now all crouching around the grate. He and Adrian heard the rattle of tools, and after several screws had been removed, the grate lifted. Harry felt his heart threaten to explode out of his chest as he waited to find out who it was that had discovered them.

"It's Mr. Harry Potter," said a whispered voice. Soft, small hands reached down.

Adrian, his head next to Harry's knees, hissed through clenched teeth, "House Elves."

"House Elves?" Harry nearly laughed aloud with relief. "What room is this?"

"Hush, hush, Mr. Harry Potter, sir," said several voices above Harry. "This is the kitchen, sir, and we're the cooks."

"You know me?" asked Harry in surprise. "do you know Dobby?" He wondered if House Elves had some sort of private network or community and all knew one another. Given their status as under servants, he somewhat doubted it.

"We know you, sir," they said, and something in their voices made Harry shiver. Had they been ordered to watch for him? Had Voldemort known he was coming?

For the fraction of a second, he considered turning around, clambering down the shaft again to the aqueduct and making good his escape. Then it hit him how impossible that was, and he decided that going forward was his only choice. He clambered upward, setting his hands on each side of the somewhat slimy hole, and hoisted himself up until he sat inside the room. Compared to the tunnel, it felt wonderfully warm, and good smells emanated from somewhere. He lifted his feet free so that Adrian could climb up beside him. It took the older, bigger boy a few minutes of puffing and grunting, but soon he, too, was inside the kitchen.

Harry's next thought was to find out what Voldemort was planning for tonight. Was it a raid on some Muggles? Was it an attack on Hogwarts? Were the Death Eaters already here at the mansion?

"Voldemort's still here, isn't he?" Harry asked the House Elves in a whisper. Apparently, the name of their master completely unnerved them, however, for instead of answering, they cowered and whimpered. Harry took it to be a yes, and stood shakily to his feet, only to be pulled down again by Adrian.

"Wait," Adrian whispered in his ear. "There might be someone there." Grateful for his friend's caution, Harry crouched. Adrian crept forward, peering around heavy wooden tables and shelves filled with pottery, if Harry's guess was right. "All clear," he whispered after a few moments. They stood, shakily, and with dripping, sodden clothes.

"What's this?" asked Adrian rhetorically, picking up something off the nearest table.

"What is it?" asked Harry, full of curiosity.

"A scroll," said Adrian, unrolling it with a rustle. He scanned it for a moment, and let out a muttered curse. "Can't read the bloody thing," he mumbled under his breath. "Could be important, and here neither of us can read it."

Harry let out a grim chuckle. "Bring it along." The absurdity of what he was trying to do struck him again, but he pushed it aside. "Where's the door?" He put a hand on Adrian's shoulder, and they headed quietly out of the kitchens and into the basement corridor. Behind them, the cooking elves still whimpered with fear.

Harry suddenly wished he had his invisibility cloak handy. Unlike the other times he'd been sneaking around, when he was invisible to everyone else, this time, everyone else was invisible to him. He much preferred the odds in the first scenario. He and Adrian tiptoed down the musty basement corridor. A drip of water and a scurrying rat were the only sounds Harry heard, though he listened with all his might. His left hand rested lightly on Adrian's shoulder, and he trailed his right along the rough stone wall. Every so often his fingers found the upright edge of a doorframe, but every door was closed, and Harry did not feel like trying any of them. The corridor seemed endless.

When the wall ended abruptly, and Harry felt empty space next to them, Adrian turned right and continued. Once, he stumbled, and Harry wondered how dark it was. All at once, Harry heard something, and he froze, his fingers gripping Adrian's shoulder harder than he meant to. He heard voices, far away, and behind a closed door, but unmistakably voices. Adrian had heard them too. They began inching their way forward again, hugging the wall until they reached the closed door behind which the voices rose and fell. Harry sucked in a silent breath and flattened himself against the wall to listen.

"…those fools at the Ministry get wind of this, we'll never have the freedom we have here tonight again," a voice was saying. "We need to strike now."

"That's what he was saying," said another voice in agreement, and several others chimed in with their support.

"He is still not strong," said a quieter voice from farther back in the room, and Harry strained to listen.

"He's strong enough," growled a lower voice. "Strong enough to show you lot what it means to be loyal."

A silence followed this, as if everyone pondered the truth of these words.

"I say tonight," said the first voice.

"That's already been decided," said the lower voice. "It's who and where that matters now. We needed that imp, Harry Potter in place, and now nobody knows if he's even on our side."

"He didn't come tonight, did he?" asked a new voice.

"You-Know-Who didn't give him the Dark Mark," explained the low voice. "Thought it might raise suspicions, he did."

"Well, it would have, but how do we know he's not playing traitor?" asked one of the other voices.

"You-Know-Who took care of that," said the low voice ominously.

Someone else who seemed to know sniggered. "He's a bit out of commission," it said.

"He's seemed to manage well enough," said a voice, and Harry shivered as he recognized the Deputy Highmaster. He suddenly wished he hadn't tried so hard in Dark Arts class.

"Ahh, but he didn't best our nephew," purred the other Carrow voice. "Alexei laid him out flat, or so he told me."

"All of this is beside the point," said a voice impatiently. "He is not here, and we cannot count on him in our plans. We can assume he is nicely out of the way, because who is ever going to be idiot enough to duel blind?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. They underestimated him. That could be an advantage. At the same time, they were right.

He realized he'd missed some of the conversation.

"…wrote down the plans he gave me this afternoon."

"Well, where are they, you blithering little idiot?"

"Don't… don't!" a voice whined. "I had them right here…where did they go?"

"If you lost them, by Merlin, I'll…" the voice spoke through gritted teeth, and Harry flinched.

"In the kitchens! I left them there when I got…" squeaked the voice. "Doesn't matter. I'll just nip in there, shall I?" Footsteps scurried toward Adrian and Harry.

"You'd better find them, fast," threatened the other voice. The pattering feet had nearly reached the door.

Harry stood against the wall, paralyzed. He had no idea where to go. They'd be discovered for sure.

Just as he gave himself up for lost, Adrian roughly pulled on Harry's damp jumper. Past the door, and just down the corridor, he shoved Harry into a crouch, holding his head down with one hand. The two boys hardly dared to breathe as the door burst open, and someone scuttled down the hallway where Harry and Adrian had just stood. Harry's heart thudded as he waited for the return of the man who would surely see them. He wondered if they should make a run for it, but Adrian nearly held him in a headlock. Why wasn't Adrian moving? Harry felt exposed, crouching there in the corridor, vulnerable and in plain sight.

In only a minute, the shuffling footsteps hurried back, and somehow, with an odd, clear recognition, Harry knew it was Peter Pettigrew. The gasping breath, the short, hurried steps brought a strange picture into Harry's mind of that night when he lay unmoving on a tombstone. The night he'd seen colors for the last time. He could not suppress a shiver.

Pettigrew entered the room, and the door next to them slammed shut. Harry twisted around so that he faced Adrian.

"He didn't see us?!" he asked under his breath. "How…?"

"Dark," Adrian whispered back.

The two relaxed, leaning their backs against the stone wall, listening again.

"The plans are gone!" Pettigrew announced to the silent room.


	32. Chapter 32

Harry and Adrian crouched outside the door, hardly daring to breathe. Inside the room, there was silence, and Harry counted his heartbeats. 29. 30. 31. 32.

Then, a voice spoke. Low and sinister, it hissed at Wormtail, "what do you mean 'gone?'"

"I mean, it's not there!" said Wormtail, his voice rising with his panic.

"Not there? And why would it not be there, hmm?" The menacing voice grew softer.

"Errr, I, I-I must have lost it," stammered Wormtail.

"Why don't you go find it again then," purred the voice, now almost a whisper.

"Yes, yes, quite right. I shan't be... Shan't be a minute." Wormtail's shuffling footsteps neared the door again, and Harry could feel Adrian tense with fear and anger. He clutched at the other boy's arm, but it was too late.

As Wormtail reentered the corridor, Harry felt Adrian's body jerk with the movement of his wand arm. "Petrificus Totalus!" Although he spoke in an undertone, he flung his words toward Pettigrew as hard as his shaking hand pointed his wand.

"Fool," Harry ground between clenched teeth. "They'll find us for sure now."

Wormtail's body hit the stone floor with a dull thud. Harry scrambled toward him, reaching for his wand as he did so. His wand that wasn't there.

"And just what have we here?" The sardonic voice of Bellatrix Lestrange sliced down the stone corridor and bounced its mocking echoes back into Harry's face. He froze in a crouch, a hunted animal caught in the glare of a searching torch beam.

Two sharp steps and she had reached him. Harry felt her thin, strong hand on his right shoulder as he crouched, pulling him around to face her.

"Harry Potter?" Her voice, laced with amusement, held a note of incredulity. "Harry Potter, here? How did you get here? How did you find this place?"

Her hand gripped his shoulder tighter and he felt her lean forward, looking into his face, his eyes. His stomach twisted and his mind fought for something to say, something to tell her that would explain his presence here, that would stall her.

More people had rushed to the door of the meeting room and now stood, pushing and gawping at him, whispering to one another.

"I thought you couldn't see," she said, her breath now just in his face as she peered at his eyes. Harry said nothing. "He told us you were blind," she said, more to herself than to Harry. "And yet, you're here?" Her foot jiggled impatiently.

She apparently made up her mind about something, because she gave his shoulder a push backward that nearly unbalanced him, and grabbed his left arm, just above the elbow, spinning him, and roughly pushing toward the door and the whispering, shuffling knot of Death Eaters. "Come with me," she said, pushing him ahead of her into the room. Harry felt the stone and wood of the corridor wall rise out of the darkness to smash against his right cheek and shoulder simultaneously. He'd missed the doorway.

"Looks like it's true," snickered one of the Death Eaters, as Harry winced, reaching up a hand to rub his cheek. As he did so, Bellatrix reacted, jumping backward, and Harry realized she'd drawn her wand. He let his right hand fall slowly from his face, and with his left, felt for the door frame behind him to try to gain some sense of orientation and balance. He moved slowly, carefully, listening hard. The hammering of his heart sounded loud in his ears.

He had no idea where Adrian was.

"Stay there, Harry Potter," said Bellatrix. "Don't move if you value your life." She grabbed his school bag from his shoulder, searching quickly inside. "Knitting?" Harry heard her sweep his ball of yarn out, and heard the click of the metal needles as she held it up. Laughter erupted from the assembled Death Eaters.

She turned away from him toward the group, tossing the knitting at him. He fumbled to catch it.

Harry let out a long, silent breath. She hadn't cursed him! She must have decided that his blindness removed any threat from him. Well, that was her mistake! He may run into a few door frames, but his mind was working just fine, thank you. His fingers clutched at the soft ball of yarn, thrust through with the two hard, cold needles.

For the moment, his mind told him to stay still, to deflect suspicion, to let them continue to underestimate him. He needed more time. He needed time to think of a plan, time to let help arrive. Help, he hoped, in the form of Sirius and the Order of the Phoenix.

Time was against him, however. Unbeknownst to Harry, several Death Eaters had been combing the passageway, and they soon returned dragging a struggling, squirming Adrian.

"Let me go!" he shouted angrily, but his protests were soon muffled, and his captors threw him roughly onto the floor at Harry's feet, where he continued to struggle and grunt, his body ramming into Harry's shins. Harry realized they had used the binding curse on him.

"So that's who helped you," said another of the Death Eaters, evidently pleased with himself for working it out. Harry again said nothing.

He was thinking, hard. He was thinking back to that day in Charms class when Professor Flitwick had told the class to make pins dance on their desks. What had they used? And what furniture lay about the room here? A table, he guessed. Probably some chairs. Were there shelves? Things on the walls? He had no idea. He stood quietly, staring straight ahead into his familiar nothingness, listening as their voices resumed. They had begun to bicker again, about what to do with him, with Wormtail.

"His Lordship's pet," spat one, more loudly than the others, but retreated into sulky silence, presumably at a look from Bellatrix.

"We need that map," said a voice, and Harry wondered if it was Lucius Malfoy.

"Inept, bumbling..." muttered several voices, and others agreed.

Harry grasped the ball of yarn tighter in his left hand. With his right, he slowly felt for the cap end of one of the needles. Slowly, carefully, so he did not attract attention, he drew it from the ball of yarn. Not quite free, because with a twist he unscrewed the cap and pulled from the hollow needle the wand he had so carefully hidden there weeks ago, with the help of Professor O'Carolan. Hoping against hope that the Death Eaters weren't looking at him, he pointed his wand down the length of the room and whispered the charm.

A thud made him jump. Adrian, lying on Harry's feet, started up, flipping himself around to see what was happening. A series of thumps and thuds told Harry his plan was working. Something large and heavy was definitely moving. It crashed against something else, something with a higher pitched thud. Then it crashed into something else on the other side of the room. Harry aimed at one of the new noises and said the charm again. As fast as he said it, new thuds and bangs began. Again and again, he threw dancing charms toward the center of the room. Soon, cutlery clattered, a chandelier jingled and plates began a stately waltz in one corner. Harry hadn't realized the meeting involved food, but he didn't care. Candles sizzled and bones rattled. Two swords which had been hanging on the wall rose and began a jig, ringing against one another in rhythm. Salt cellars flew about the room, shaking their contents down on the wildly dancing furniture. Harry sneezed. Wine goblets threw themselves one after another against a wall in joyful abandon, their shattering remains falling to the floor only to continue to move feebly with small squeaks like wounded mice.

The pandemonium had begun to spread toward the Death Eaters and Harry and Adrian. Harry had just wits enough to shove his wand back inside the knitting needle when several spoons began rapping on his forehead. He threw up a hand to ward them off.

Evidently the Death Eaters had been given similar treatment. "It's a chair, a bloody chair!" yelled one man, and Harry pictured a black-robed figure being whisked off into a foxtrot.

"The knives, not the knives," moaned another, while a third merely gurgled.

Bellatrix kept her head longer than some of the others. Harry heard her stamp her foot angrily, and soon the chandelier had exploded into shards of crystal. This angered it so much that it immediately retaliated by plunging the room into darkness, as evidenced by the cries of dismay from several voices, followed by several shouts of, "Lumos!"

As the furniture continued its mad capering about, Bellatrix rounded on Harry.

"Cruciatus!" she shrieked, catching Harry full in the chest. He doubled over as fiery agony spread through his body. The pain did not last long, because Bellatrix found herself distracted by a courtly tablecloth wrapping itself around her, swishing with delight and muffling her words. Harry panted as she struggled to free herself. His hand gripped the end of his knitting needle.

He heard her wrest the heavy fabric from her body and throw it in a lump onto the stone floor, where it immediately rose and stalked off in a huff. Harry gripped his wand tighter, and as she turned back toward him, he tuned in on her howl of rage.

"Expelliarmus!" he yelled, pointing his wand toward his best guess of where she stood.

At the same moment, she cursed him, but it was too late. A second of nothingness was followed by the unmistakable clatter of wand hitting stone. He aimed for the sound, intending to make it dance too, but this time he missed.

Bellatrix dove for the wand, and Harry was unceremoniously knocked sprawling by the table itself, lumbering about the room like a happy elephant. As he tumbled, his flailing left hand felt the ropes that bound Adrian, and it occurred to him that the decent thing to do would be to set his friend loose. He guessed he could also use Adrian's help.

A curse hit the heavy stone wall next to his left ear, and he ducked. Shortly, there was a crash of cutlery, and the voice that had sent the curse swore loudly to itself.

For good measure, Harry sent a few more dancing charms into the melee before setting to work on Adrian's ropes.

It seemed to take forever as his fingers worked their way around the ropes looking for the knots, but it was really only a few seconds. With his left hand he tugged at the knots, still holding his wand out with his right. Footsteps approached, and Harry sent a quick "Expelliarmus" their way without even turning. The furniture continued to dance. Here and there Death Eaters cursed and swore at the circling chaos.

Before he could get Adrian's ropes untied, another cruciatus curse came from nowhere, hit him, and he fell sideways. "You little..." growled the Death Eater, apparently too angry to invent a proper epithet. He cursed Harry again viciously, and Harry's head swam.

The Death Eaters finally began to get the upper hand as their wands sent spells flying into the mess. Smashing crockery and wood was followed by an eerie silence.

Cloth rustled.

"Don't." Bellatrix's voice held a warning. "Don't kill him. Take him upstairs."

The knitting needled clattered to the floor as rough hands lifted Harry's now-limp body. Fire raced through his every nerve at their touch, and he moaned.

"Stop!" The commanding voice rang out from the doorway, and Harry's eyes closed in relief.

Sirius had come.


	33. Chapter 33

The Death Eater who held Harry dumped him on the floor like a sack of potatoes and whipped around to face the newcomers. Harry could hear curses flying even before more Order members poured through the door. Crockery and cutlery that wasn't already smashed went flying, hitting the walls with ringing sharpness. Lupin's voice fired curses with machine-gun rapidity. Harry thought he heard Professor O'Carolan to the far left, his back to the stone wall. Other voices that Harry couldn't sort out shouted from in front of him.

Harry himself, still gasping from the Cruciatus curses, crouched next to Adrian. As soon as he was able, he again touched the ropes that bound his friend, following them around to the knots. With both hands, he tugged and twisted. Adrian grunted.

"How do I let you talk?" Harry hissed into his ear. Adrian grunted again. Harry touched Adrian's cheek, looking for a gag, but found nothing. They must have used some sort of spell, and Harry didn't know the counter-curse.

He resumed tugging at the knots. Finally, with the help of his wand and a few loosening charms, he got Adrian free. He knew Adrian wanted to help with the battle raging around them, but with his jaw locked tightly, Harry doubted he'd be able to do much cursing.

Apparently Adrian didn't care. As soon as he was free, he plunged into the fight, snarling, his fists flying. Harry grinned.

Still sitting next to the door with his back against the wall, Harry pulled out his wand again. Since he had no idea which of the howling witches and wizards were his friends, he contented himself with finding dishes and furniture that were near enough to reach and charming them to run around the room.

A stray curse hit his left knee, and he gasped with pain.

"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Lupin in his ear, causing him to jump.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said, holding his knee with both hands.

"Make a shield," said Lupin, but his voice was lost in the noisy room.

"What?" asked Harry.

"A shield. Make a shield.  _ Protego _ ," bawled Lupin in Harry's ear.

Harry cast the spell, and he grinned as Lupin stood next to him, using his shield and throwing hexes from behind it.

Harry's hand, straying to his pocket, grasped the crumpled roll of parchment he'd stolen from the kitchen. He wondered what it contained. A map, someone had said. Plans maybe? From the Dark Lord?

Harry gasped.

"We have to find Voldemort!" he shouted at Lupin. "He's here! Somewhere here in this house. Or at least, he was."

Lupin barely heard him, so absorbed was he in fighting several Death Eaters at once.

"We have to find Voldemort!" Harry yelled again.

"Harry!" said a voice in Harry's other ear.

"Mack! You're here too?" Harry asked.

"Come with me," Mack said, giving Harry's arm a push toward the door. By this time, Lupin had moved off, still firing curses, so Harry staggered to his feet, backed out of the doorway, and swung around into the corridor.

"Voldemort," Mack said urgently. "Do you know where he is?"

"Here," panted Harry. "Here somewhere. Well, he was."

"We should find him before he finds you," said Mack. "He isn't going to like you being here with us."

"I have this," said Harry, pulling out the parchment. Mack snatched it from his hands and unrolled it.

"What is it?" asked Harry urgently, but Mack only muttered.

"What?" asked Harry impatiently again.

"Too dark in here to see it," said Mack. "Come with me. We need some light."

Harry took his elbow. Mack set off down the narrow passage at a sprint, Harry stumbling behind as his injured knee throbbed.

Mack rounded the corner back toward the kitchens, and stopped. The parchment rustled as he held it up toward a crackling torch that hung on the wall.

"A map," he said at once. "Looks like Hogwarts. There's a… let me see… a tunnel."

"I know about those," said Harry impatiently. "Are there plans? What is Voldemort going to do?"

Mack did not answer but continued studying the map.

"We have to find him. We have to stop this," muttered Mack.

"What is it?" demanded Harry in frustration.

Rather than answering, Mack smacked the back of Harry's hand with his elbow, a signal, Harry supposed, to grab ahold. He did and found himself once again hauled off down the passageway. Several open doorways on his right indicated that they had passed the storage room where he and Mack had once been imprisoned, and then the kitchens where the house elves still whispered and cowered.

Harry had just time to notice that Mack had begun to ascend stairs and step up himself, his knee giving protest. Mack did not slow, however, and Harry had to keep up as best he could.

"Quiet," Mack whispered through clenched teeth.

Harry gritted his own teeth in answer but did not reply. Instead, he concentrated on keeping his balance, trailing the wall with his right elbow, his wand still clutched in his right hand, his left holding Mack's elbow.

Mack reached a landing, and they walked down thick carpet, the muffled sounds from below stairs still reaching them. Harry's side brushed a hall table, and he edged slightly behind Mack to protect himself from more collisions with furniture.

Turning abruptly to the left, Mack climbed another, wider set of stairs, this one carpeted as well. He turned to the left and continued climbing, this time, slowing, but moving as softly as he could. Harry followed his example, setting each foot gingerly on the next stair.

"What isss thisss?" The voice came softly from the landing at the top of the stair, and Mack and Harry both froze. Harry doubted Mack could understand the snake's words, but he had heard the unmistakable hissing sound. Nagini still guarded the room where Voldemort reposed.

Without hesitation, Mack aimed his wand. His incantation was one Harry had never heard before. There was no sound, but a foul smell rose, and the snake hissed and spluttered like an overboiling tea kettle.

"Quick," said Mack. "We only have a few minutes."

"What was that?" asked Harry.

"Not now," said Mack, ever taciturn. Harry sighed in exasperation.

They walked past the writhing snake, and with his wand, Mack blasted open the door to Voldemort's chamber. An air of exultation hung about him like a robe, as if he had waited and planned for this day for a long time.

"I'm here, Tom Riddle," he said in a ringing voice. "Here again at last. And this time there is no stopping me."

A chair creaked as it swiveled. For a moment, the crackling of the fire was all that Harry could hear. Beside him, Mack breathed heavily, his shoulders rising and falling. Although he was not a tall man, he stood ramrod straight, tensed and upright.

"Your people are all busy downstairs," said Mack. "You have not yet reached your strength. You are mine now."

Harry did not know how he expected Voldemort to respond, but still, the low laughter surprised him.

"Yours, am I?" the Dark Lord asked in a low voice as his chuckles died away. "Your toy, your kitten, your plaything?"

"Mine to destroy, just as you destroyed the person that I loved most. You took her from me, and then you destroyed her," said Mack bitterly.

"And little Harry Potter," said Voldemort softly, almost sweetly. "Am I yours also? Will killing me bring back your precious sight? Your loving parents?"

Harry knew he was being taunted. His mind churned with what he had lost. A picture of the red awning, the last thing he had ever really seen, flashed across his memory. The picture of his parents in the Mirror of Erised, the loving home he had never known, came unbidden to his mind.

"A hand of revenge can never touch me," said Voldemort slowly. "If you strike me down with the power of hatred, I will only become more powerful than you can ever imagine."

The fire crackled and spat.

"The woman you loved, MacIntosh," sneered Voldemort. "She never loved you, small and insignificant as you were. She saw only power, charm. She saw me and wanted me."

"You bewitched her." Mack said angrily. "She never wanted you. She wanted to live quietly."

"With you?" mocked Voldemort. "A little nothing like yourself? She had beauty, fame. She had a name. She had a family."

"She could have been happy. I could have made her happy." Mack's voice came from behind gritted teeth.

"As a humble fisherman's wife," said Voldemort with a laugh. "Happy cleaning your nets and tending your cottage. No. I would have shown her the world. I would have given her everything."

"But you didn't. You sapped her, ruined her. Like you ruin everything," Mack's voice held bitterness again.

"I do, don't I?" said Voldemort in mock cheerfulness. "I do tend to ruin things for people who don't matter, paving the way to gain what's needed for the people who do matter. But this conversation bores me. Come, come, get it done. Curse me. Have done with it."

Mack and Harry both raised their wands simultaneously, pointing them at Voldemort.

"What do you mean, more powerful in revenge?" asked Harry suddenly.

"Oh, nothing," said Voldemort airily.

Harry felt suddenly confused. Something was not right.

Mack gave a gasp of surprise as the fire snapped. Apparently, he had seen something as its light had flared, for he gave an involuntary step forward.

"Naia!" he said in anxious surprise.

"Harry!" The small urgent voice could not be mistaken. Jamie.

"Jamie and Jasmine?" asked Harry in bewilderment.

"Destroying me will destroy them," said Voldemort triumphantly, "and I can take their power and become more than I already am. Your revenge, as revenge always must, will only destroy the thing you love."

"Don't, please," begged Jamie.

Again, red anger flashed in Harry's eyes. Voldemort had taken so much from him. He deserved to die. He deserved it. He would only hurt others if he was allowed to live. Harry raised his wand a fraction of an inch. Silence snapped in the room.

Stepping in front of Mack, Harry yelled. He flung his words at Voldemort, and as he did so, a whooshing sound came from Voldemort's chair. Harry stepped forward, his hand outstretched, but instead of a robed form, he felt only a shrinking, a pulling away. Voldemort was disappearing, melting. Soon, only an empty robe lay on the velvet cushions of the chair. Harry took it up in his hand.

As he did so, two small girls rushed at him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Jasmine hugged him and then reached to hug Mack. Jamie simply clung to him. He put a brotherly arm around her and held her close.

As he held her, he closed his eyes, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He'd done it, but at what price?

"What did you say?" Jamie asked. "What did you yell that made the Dark Lord go away?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked down at her, though he still saw nothing. The nothing he would see forever, he knew. He let out a long, shaky breath.

"I said, 'I forgive you,'" he explained simply.


	34. Chapter 34

"What in the world made you say that?" asked Sirius.

Everyone was back at Grimmauld Place taking what Lupin called "a breather." The battle at the mansion had ended with most of the Death Eaters apparating away once they discovered that the Dark Lord had vanished. A few who were left had been taken into custody, among them the still-inert Wormtail. Several were injured.

The Order of the Phoenix had not come away without casualties. Mad-Eye Moody now limped with both feet. Worst of all, Professor O'Carolan had been struck, and they feared that he would not pull through. He had been taken to St. Mungo's straightaway, of course, but in the back of everyone's mind was anxiety for the old professor.

Harry, who sat with his knee under a bag of frozen peas, looked down the table toward the spot where Sirius and the twins sat. Mack had just finished telling everyone the story of the confrontation with Voldemort, and the rescue of the twins.

"Wait, what I want to know, is how did Voldemort get hold of you two in the first place?" Harry interrupted without answering Sirius's question.

Jasmine started. "It was my fault, really."

"No, it was mine," said Jamie hurriedly.

Without waiting for her sister, Jasmine continued. "I brought us too close to the house."

"They came to tell us what was going on," Sirius added. "We were in too big of a hurry."

"If Jamie and Jazz got caught, how did the rest of you get into the house?" queried Adrian, who was nursing a broken arm. He'd insisted he not be taken to St. Mungo's until he heard the whole story, but Lupin sternly informed him that it would not be long until he was to be safely in hospital.

"That's why it was my fault," Jamie began again. "We went back…"

"I agreed to it. We went back to get…" Jasmine continued.

"And I wanted to get…" Jamie spoke over her sister.

"But we came back too close to the house," Jasmine finished.

Harry squinted in a puzzled frown as the twins talked over one another.

"A Death Eater in a mask," Jamie said. "I think it might have been that scary Professor Carrow."

"He grabbed us, just as we came out by the stream," said Jasmine. It's like he knew we were coming."

"Well it was the third time," put in Lupin.

"I should have been more careful," said Jasmine with tears in her voice.

"Hush," said Mack, and his chair creaked as he put his arm around her. "It's all sorted now."

"Which brings us back," said Sirius to Harry, "to why you said that. How is everything sorted? What made you say such a thing, anyway?"

Harry sucked in a long, slow breath. He wasn't sure he could explain. The long, cold year at Durmstrang, the hours he'd spent getting lost or relearning how to navigate using sounds and mental maps. The friendships he'd made as a result of his blindness, and as a result of the school swap. The knitting class, the Carrows, Natalia, Quidditch, the Yule Ball, the graveyard… everything spun through his head in a blur.

"I—err—I didn't actually want revenge," he said lamely.

"What do you mean," asked Sirius sharply.

"I didn't really want revenge," repeated Harry. "He thought I wanted revenge, that I was angry at him for blinding me, and everything. But I didn't."

There was silence at the long table.

"I know it seems like this huge tragedy," Harry continued, struggling to choose his words. "I know it seems like I should hate him for what he did to me, to my parents. I know he expected me to."

"Go on," said Lupin quietly.

"But I don't. I mean, yeah, it… not being able to see…" he floundered.

"It's not quite how you thought it would be?" asked Lupin slowly. Harry turned toward him.

"Some days, I hate it," Harry confessed in a rush. "But mostly, it's just…"

"There." Lupin supplied the word, and Harry knew in that moment that he completely understood.

"There." Harry repeated the word. "It just is."

"Your acceptance is admirable," began Sirius, but Harry broke in.

"It's not really acceptance. I mean I don't feel resigned or all that rot. It just isn't as bad as I thought it would be," Harry finished.

"But forgiveness? That sounds almost religious," Sirius said sardonically.

"I wanted to say that I didn't care. You know, like he couldn't break me. That was all that came to mind," said Harry.

"Well, it worked. Forgiveness. Acceptance. Love. The most powerful magic. The only thing that can truly counter evil," Lupin said these words thoughtfully. "In some ways, loving yourself is the first step toward loving your neighbor."

"Loving myself," said Harry, wondering if this conversation had really gone in the proper direction after all.

"Anyway," said Sirius crisply, "all's well that ends well. You-Know-Who is not gone, of course. Evil cannot be disposed of quite that easily. Still, my guess is that he will stay quiet for a while at least, and we may enjoy a respite."

Everyone pondered this.

"You," Lupin said. "You are destined for St. Mungo's and rest, sir. Professor Snape will have my head if he finds out that I did not take one of his Slytherin students for the care he needed."

Adrian snorted, but rose to his feet. "You might as well come too, Harry, and get that knee sorted."

Harry smirked to himself. Adrian might be bold in a fight, but when it came to doctors, he did not want to go alone. He stretched himself as he stood, and headed toward the fireplace where Lupin was gathering Floo powder.

-break-

Two weeks later, Harry sat in his last knitting class of the year. That afternoon, the Hogwarts students would ride the magical ship back in time to witness the three competitors perform the final task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Harry doubted it could be as exciting as the weeks leading up to it, but he felt mild interest nonetheless. Wild stories had reached the Durmstrang students of battles with dragons and a swimming contest in the lake with the giant squid, and already Durmstrang was planning to host the next TWT in seven years.

He thought about Professor O'Carolan with concern. Weakened as he was with his long imprisonment and age, the old fighter had a long road ahead of him. In spite of the best care the medi-witches and wizards at St. Mungo's could give, he remained weak and listless. Harry visited him one quiet day to have a long talk with him, which he feared might be his last. He'd told Harry how proud he was, in such a grandfatherly tone that Harry was quite moved. He also bequeathed his office full of oddities and inventions to Harry if he didn't pull through, who in turn planned to give most of them to Mr. Weasley. This memory of his mentor's illness still made Harry feel a knot in the pit of his stomach, but he determined to continue to make the old man proud whether he was there to see Harry's accomplishments or not. He kept the three-cornered Hansel-and-Gretel in his pocket as a talisman.

Harry feebly tried to hook the knitting needle under the loops of yarn, aware that he was making a dismal mess of it as usual. His thoughts strayed to Ron and Hermione, and he felt a rush of excitement and anticipation with the thought that soon he'd get to tell his friends everything that had happened. He wondered vaguely if Luna would also like to hear all about it and he made a mental promise to himself to find her when he got back and give her his knitting needles and yarn. He thought she might like them.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's story continues in the third book of this series, "Harry Potter and the Forgotten Lady."


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